Same moon, impossible stars,
pesky light beaming in off the parkway;
morning, the post-op blue of her eyes
(He called me; I followed)
same stars, impossible moon,
ferocious slash through the sky
like the moment when all is forgiven;
(the hardest part: thanklessness. After
that: waiting;) sky pinched between rock,
rutting season, all the way
to the drop off, the interstate strewn
with dead deer; (He tells me in the car that he’s
patient, sure, but he’s pretty much had it
with this this perpetual winter bullshit;)
same light, impossible sky, the interstate ferocious,
thankless; In my daughter’s blended family therapy
drawings, I am always a blonde;
across the bridge, same thankless wind
sifting ash into darkening heaps;
this side of the interstate, same impossible,
same waiting, the minimalls hawking spray tans,
Steak Nightz, walk-in phlebotomy clinics;
(When she’s gone, it’s like the very ground
has swallowed her whole)
landscape receding into backlight, then opening
in the distance like the exit wound it is-
hard sky,
dark light,
moon thankless,
wait ferocious