The heart must either break
or turn to lead, I can tell you that.
“Oon,” the 2-year-old said,
pointing at the sky. He meant “moon.”
It’s about yearning, it’s about words
and the spaces between words.
This was another bitter cold night.
In the early hours, a chorus of yips
and squeaks echoed through the icy air.
Coyotes, keeping warm.
If you stare,
daring you to ask
what it’s like
to be a thing.
your face away,
do you realize
for some time now,
of light falling