Today I will go blind making eyes at you,
you orphaned orb of the sky,
white-hot with cruelty and with love
for all things growing, for all things
spangled green and gold.
I know you are the anchor
and the end
of a melting world, a burning world.
I know that in the long days of August
when the earth casts away your shadow,
you are lonely.
I pray to you and to your light—
rip away my human softness
and show me how to live in honest savagery.
Your face is shining and distant,
like gold falling through water.
The color of you on crackling pavement—
a bright purple-red stain of life.
It is said that earth has no sorrows that earth cannot heal,
but each night when you scorn me I cry out
I used to think that invisibility was a kind of miracle—
that there was pain in being seen—
but now in this awkward landscape of memory
when I forget my name each twilight and
when certainty is a commodity,
there is heroism in endurance,
and I pray for your endurance.
Annihilation is a stone skipped across a pond,
waiting to plummet beneath the glassy surface,
and I pray once more for your endurance.
When you leave me behind in the evenings,
all the air goes out of my lungs,
and I wait for the darkness
to overrun my body.
Night is a beast of infinite panic,
a discharge of black ink upon my brow
that makes corpses out of hope.
And in my deathless anxiety,
I pray once more for your return.
I pray for your return and for your resurrection
and for the grace of your hands on my body.
You touch me, and I am alive.
I pray for the dawn, a ribbon of blue paint
threaded through the sky by your careful fingertips.
Each morning, I pray for you.
I wait for you.
We will endure,
we two castaways.
You will return to me,
and maybe to know that