BRUNK HOWARD


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Watching

In the cold—

Floating above

An emptied starship

I watched my world cry

All of it caught

In death’s eye

That mirrors life.


In that distant past

I didn’t know its unity

And didn’t ask

For I was blind

And thought my kind

Would always know

The cold clean distance of separation.


And my hearing

Didn’t recognise the lolling

Of calves

And mistook it for tautness,

For the tension

That propels cupid’s errant arrow.


Give me that last second back

For I didn’t order the silence

That still I hear screaming.

The still of screaming.


I didn’t know

That taut was infinitely slack

And no matter the pulling

Would never come back.

Only the question remains.

Or so I thought, dear heart.