fire me into the sun,

careening, spiraling,

ostensibly a rocket,

flailing and forging,

ostensibly a rocket

Hand delivered into yet another mouth,

light years, lifetimes, later,

…many months later,

a perfect delivery into another vacuum,

a swan dive,

without any swans present.

I can choose to swim back, with dust all over my shoulders

or sail back or stay adrift even,

or stay aflame, with dust all over my shoulders,

all over the kitchen floor,

the choices, the curses, the swans, all positing my position (s)

while stars streak around us, and I struggle to find out which puzzle pieces go where,

hands full of sapphires,

or bluegrass,

the sentence will stop short, I will be stop shor…

My eyes wont be able to lock onto anything,

except you,

despite you, despite my ears and my arteries,

despite everything ,

despite the missing puzzle pieces and the utter lack of sapphires.

My eyes wont be able to lock onto anything, we are not trained that way.

except for what’s stored in the lock box,

and I shield my eyes from the sun and from everything else,

best that I can at least.

the baritones tell me, in deep, stretching voices, ” we are not trained that way”

my eyes, your eyes, meet at the bottom of the hill,

I’m falling from our sun, to the bottom of the hill,

rolling with you, without you,

well meet at the bottom of our hill,

despite the utter lack of sapphires.