it all started last night
when we took the kites down
from the sparse trees
diagnosed with anorexia nervosa
no leaves to clothe, to shield, to sheath
the fireworks were digital
explosions in surround-sound
pixels of artificial light
bathing everything in an eerie glow
no computer or more microchip
could absorb any of this,
hands firmly clasped
palms sweaty, fingers aching
as the neighborhood kids
were cloaked
in a fog,
in a smoke,
and it felt good, the winter's air
it felt brisk and chaste and frozen in brevity
like you, your words, your actions without care
this moment was to be
immortalized in photo albums
polaroids yellowing in fine film
and AA rings
sober for five years
we could spin
gradually from vinyl carousels
to machines that consume
entirely too much
the world, in all of its news
so gone, despondent, desolate
could be a brighter, crisper hue
like super bowl TV sets
with thousand dollar price tags
there, in the cold open, would be
no regrets, just distillates and constellations
and blades of glass so arid,
so sharp,
that with every tumultuous roll
would bleed a new scar
in patterns like libra, capricorn, and sagittarius
i will heal your wounds
i am no astronomer
but i will retrieve you,
from the depths of the deepest darkness,
i will find you.