Glassscape

              Or the dance we do is
orrery—one around
the other & done, round the
sound to surround the
              drowning, withershins &
                        wingèd, dizzy, waltzing with
                  day & with dark: or making love
                            to a laser bolt at the arc of
                            afternoon, her glow-
stick lipstick slick
& licorice

              —lowwater, glassscape—

                                              & phoe-
                                                nixed
                                          by her face
              as if a trap
door in the trap door
alone might keep a gravity
aright:
                            you're a Luftwaffe of star
                                                  light, shot
                                      thru a subway car,
              & I'm nothing
if not all
lit
up

Copyright © 2009 Andrew Zawacki All rights reserved
from Black Warrior Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission