I'll see you in the atmosphere

I’ll see you in the atmosphere

433 light years until I reach Polaris.

I began to think how you were

like the stars, no longer here, but

your light still is

in the smell of pasghetti, in the glow of

Halloween, when heartland sleds in the dead of

winter.

There are things we don’t talk about.

How we got here: your suburban Christmas

card turned yellow and slightly singed

on the edges.

Things we can’t talk about.

My orange eviction notice, your guttural bellow

clawing at the garage door until paper

gave way.

The night the moon turned off, I woke up

in a vineyard covered in burrs. You greeted me

with an array of meteors ballroom dancing

across faceless skies, scintillating rain on

me.

Connect our pencil height sketches, our

constellations, and I’ll let Polaris keep you,

if you let me linger a moment longer

in your orbit.