Twenty Weeks
       

We peeked into the fishbowl galaxy today
to view your recent work—

nebula of breath, thumbprints from the moon.

We've lost touch with our own intricacy,
somewhere in the torque and wick of age

the hardscrabble bones,
but you are a kind of faith

orbiting the sonar,
blood's low note a-swish.

It's blizzarding again
and we are beh~nd glass

silence piling up all around us.
Spin the half-made body

no upside, no down
king of no falling

lassoing the dark.
Tell us what we can't remember.

There in the lit cocoon
we watched each wet yawn and stretch.

Fine boy,
the most important work you'll do,

shape the four chambers
of your heart.

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Copyright © 2015 Jennifer K. Sweeney All rights reserved
from Little Spells
New Issues Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission