as i lay, looking up at
stars and stars and a yellow moon.
an overwhelming, confusing
calm takes control.
i unquestionably know that
my pain,
all of that overly-human, sticky tar called pain,
will end, or leave, or vanish from everything.
my heart -
or maybe my senseless head -
yearns
for this moment to be
a movie scene.
it almost is, with the dying grassy field and
wrinkled blanket below and
you beside me, always, always,
always, i thought.
in our movie, something wise
would be said, something
about love or freedom or
the too-big sky taking up space,
even when
we don't want it to.
and then something funny
would be said, something
about poetry being snobby and stupid
and all too true.
you always made me laugh,
i remember.
in our movie, i know how to be the sky: larger than
life and love and
the loss of them both and
the neighbor downstairs who steals our newspaper.
i turn my head to you
or your shadow
or whatever's there next to me
and ask how big the sky is.
in our movie, you're
there, and you smile
because you always liked to smile
and you say,
"smaller than us."