there is something amiss,
you notice the colors of my nails twice
and reckon, ‘that’s a piece of heaven
right there at the tips of your toes
and where your touch begins.’ the sky,
painted on the edges of my body. something
i stole from when i took the fall. now,
reaching for that piece of paradise
across the table, your hand gets stuck–
between anticipated temptations and bad luck.
remember, keep in synchronous rotation
with the body that keeps you in place
yet in constant motion. these things can be
as bright as the sun, dark as your doubt,
round as your woe. we know how
these things work. if we remember at all.
it only seems random. but the distance
between this body and that is deliberate.
calculated with precision. we move
according to rules of the universe, irrelevant
whether understood, implied, or imposed.
how do we approximate matter and space?
what occupies us? what is missing?
where do burning bodies go?
and the color of our skies, on surfaces
we think we own. may not be
how heaven appears to be at all.