Waning, I apologize
the meteoric condition
of the sylph expired;
the moonless tides of lashes
threatening to cradle and break.

The nights often layered
into fetuses in prayer,
shelled in the body of heavy, linted comforter.
These lids pressed to shams,
and blossomed craters and radio waves
on the black of maria pupils and atmosphereless irises.

…Then through the muddled shades,
beneath its dusk and lamp orange webs,
while I was lost and found and wombed and saturated,
it crept in: luminescence,
and it drank away the sleeping universe.