I want to start by throwing something away;
out of any three suns, I'll take the shiniest,
the yellowiest, & out of any three yous
I'll take today's - you fractured you, you softly
bit into. No, I can't deny the edge you felt
but I'm like the light you've turned on, sparking
& buzzing on the back porch: your finger,
that gentle flick. I've mapped my trajectory
four times already, know the angle of entry
for my rocket's descent & I'm receiving messages
from the tower, a stream of static, & here I am
holding the speaker close - Dear You,
I have nothing to say so I'm saying it
to you - you shattering you, my stunning one.
I'm rehearsing what happens when I see you
in now - that simple shred of was long gone.
I have these two intelligent probes that I use
called hands. They search out what I need,
over weeks, even over half continents,
& when they get their chance they hold on.