Black Holes
       

No stars now
because tree. Maple
leafing out against
the house. It's a shame
to mourn alone. I am
a mammal. There are eight
or more openings in
my body. I had previously
forgotten the three
that don't make any noise,
how our night holes
become day holes. Let me see
if I can understand you
as an opening, my ear
cocked to the air. Why
are we still whispering?
People say to age into
the epoch, that trying
to change a fraction of
the past is hard, like math.
I go to the window
where the laws of nature
are sometimes writ
on leaves like love letters
floating up, star-deep
into all the black holes.

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Copyright © 2017 Christopher Salerno All rights reserved
from Sun & Urn
The University of Georgia Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission