poems involving the sky

Jason Stoneking

Tonight, I don’t want
to elevate you
beyond this world
with poetic language.
Everybody already knows
all that shit
about how we are all
made out of stardust.
And everybody knows
that the cosmos
are made up
of human dreams.
And you know
that you are one
of those dreams,
twirling and dancing
across my sky
every night, wondering
if you will ever land.
So it is actually
back down to earth
that I wanted to bring you
just for a moment
to say:
that the other day
you smiled at me
and it made my heart
want to keep beating
right here
in real life.
* * *

 

 

I got off the metro
at the wrong stop
and went the wrong way
trying to turn around,
then went through
the wrong door
and got locked outside
the exit, a block away
from my entrance,
and so totally by accident
saw the sunset
which was so striking
that I wished to have
seen it on purpose.
* * *
 

 

I was thinking today
about the sunrise,
and what it is
that keeps the earth
returning to it
morning after morning
in roughly the same rhythm
for century after century,
and I wondered if maybe
it’s just gradually slowing
to a stop. If there is no
steadying rhythmic force,
but only whatever set
the events of our galaxy
into motion, and now
just their decelerating
spin-out into the cosmic
entropic whirlpool of oblivion.
And within that,
the men on TV, in suits, arguing.
And the giant poster
along the subway wall
telling me about a movie
for children.
And my lover, standing
in the hallway crying,
as I prepare to leave,
not even running from her
but from the terror
of my own vulnerable
and mysterious feelings.
As I spin into my very own
inevitable vortex of doom,
and along with me goes
whatever I knew and didn’t know
of reality, physics, and love.
Everything is breaking apart,
they say. But it’s happening
in agonizingly slow motion.
And I am reaching
back in time, now
for your hand.

poems involving the sky