The Mother

    I chase you,
    Tumbling down
    Highways in the night.
    Dark hills rise on the
    Sides of windy roads,
    Muted burning headlights
    Of tin can travelers
    Forcing themselves through
    A velveteen time of day.
    Dissolving the hours.
    (They sink into dewy ground.
    Settle amidst decaying leaves.
    Thin, transparently-veined layers of life,
    A shed exoskeleton revealing tender pink flesh.)
    But you,
    A suspended dense sphere,
    Sitting on sky pedestal, perched.
    The glint in a bird’s eye,
    A beacon in blackness.
    Body smoothed by routine rotations.
    Your luminescent pitted, pale breast
    Maintains only dusty surface wounds.
    Radiant glow saturates your frozen,
    Vacuous home nearest to your flesh.
    Yearning to
    Grab fistfuls of your
    Silver soil. Desperately
    Reaching skyward with
    Thin limbs bathed in your light
    That shines on the world entire, savoring
    A personal slice. Clamoring towards
    Your elusive form,
    In the realization of day break…
    You slip. Recede into red-tinged
    Cloud mist. Cool curvature melts
    In the ire of sunlight.


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