Love in the Age of Broken Constellations
       

In the planetarium,
the universe is everywhere.

The man who controls the stars
has pressed the wrong button

and the milky way spins
around the ceiling, across the viewing
chairs and onto the floor.

A girl holds hands with Orion.
She is the first to unbuckle his belt.

The universe has never been
so close, never been part of her skin.

Her boyfriend reaches over her shoulder,
Vega is under his fingernails.

She leans in to kiss him
and the room lightens.

Where there were hands, now
there is emptiness, where there were stars—

white paint returns, the bare curve
of the dome missing its verses.
And what remains—

a mural of the virgin praying
for darkness, a saint whispering

for night to circle again,
to land quietly in his lap.

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Copyright © 2020 Kelli Russell Agodon All rights reserved
from A Constellation of Kisses
Terrapin Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission