Chaos of night / daybreak

Dear Papa,


Six in the morning

bathed in orange sunrise

I am jet-lagged, dizzy

from the wild orbit of my thoughts,


not used to unleashing constellations

from my mind’s dark matter.

Here my voice unfurls

in fragments, explosions and bursts of light,

hear your voice blending

to melt my stars,

writing feverishly

connecting the dots without drawing lines

between fact/fiction, yours/mine.


I tilt my head back and

stand vertiginous under the brilliant mess

of firmament. Unmoored and cradled

in the immensity of our private universe

no place to begin but the middle, we bumble

toward those distant gleaming pinpoints

through humming, pregnant space.


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