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There was no one to be seen on the moon

i want those laughing golden stars

to carry you from dawn to dusk

to be congruent in all our corresponding angles

So now I bring you back from ashes, re-form your small waist, scarred hands, long spine from dust,

we exhume bone china

please lay down and be my xylophone skeletons

when you start a car, you put the devil into the devil and turn it

an empty rum bottle in the backseat

I took to yelling — I’m only divorced five hours since lunch

wondering where mosquito ghosts would go

remembering us — a pair of crows, like discovered lovers,

breaking against an imprint of stars on the rocks that rock in the sway of cooling planets and tides