out of range
it’s been a few months since I’ve written
poems about something
other than people I know getting swallowed
up by the spaces between the stars.
scientists say there’s light everywhere
in an infinite universe
but the dark spaces have always given me
a place to sit,
a warmth that hasn’t reached
the corner between my refrigerator and the floor.
I don’t always recognize myself in the swill
of the river and its unknown bodies,
there’s no lighthouse on my coast.
so I don’t always conduct that poetic spark
and I don’t always feel good about finding
a way through the mirrored glass
to meet the central bulb.
but I’d still like to think that wherever you look
even if it’s out of range.