Constellation

On the rooftop,
You complained
There are no stars
In the sky.

I promised to
Pull out my teeth
And hurl them past clouds
To a place where
They formed
Constellations.

* * * * * * * * * *

The wind’s elbow
Knocked over
My plastic cup of wine:
It bled out
Like someone stabbed.
We laughed,
Lips sunburnt
By merlot.

* * * * * * * * * *

When I heard taxis
Going south,
I knew everything
Would end.
Are taxis following birds
As they fly south
For the winter?