a year of meteors (and meteorites)


just outside of austin,
I found one in a flea market:
the mexican assured me it was a meteorite,
though I wonder now if he meant mandarina.
when I brought it back to my lover,
she embraced me. for a hundred days,
our bedroom smelled of citrus.


my roommates are meteorites.
I polish them, listen to them,
cover them with blankets
when the nights turn cold.
in exchange, they let me touch them
so I can imagine the places they passed.


meteors fill the sky,
like whales fill the winter bay.
birds circle them as the meteors mate
in the seclusion of clouds.