Constellations
Originally published in Or Else They are Trees published by El Aleph Press, available in full
Constellations
This time, you know all I know,
the quiet sunlight wrapped
between two layers of cloth, the way
an orchid simplifies and reproduces
Wittgenstein’s blue notebook, even
this path which is not a path
but a shift in octaves.
All day, we did nothing
but prick ourselves with a pin
so that the prayers could pass through.
This time, you can carry everything,
our masks that fill the sky,
the stars and their histories
as perforation and stamen.
All day, we played a game
where we put our faces on
top of everyone else’s.
This was easy until
we forgot what we
looked like and the rules
became more complex.
