Burning the sky down, I wish
we had met as children, at the
moment in that gravity, that
echoless orbit of life, we
would have known each other
unlike ever knowing
anyone.

The night painted with sound, we
could have known what we
know now, but hovered between
solitudes; watching ourselves in
a made for TV movie that makes
no sense to any
others

A cast of two; reciting lines, we
could have had what we had
never knowing what was missing,
but seeing it in technicolor, its
complete brevity, useful
but not meant for
everyone.

Motion derived; emotion driven,
we could have but didn’t, were
different trajectories, splashy
vectors toward today, missing
from the children we were, now
adapted to the moment
we are.

With no burning skies, painted
nights; the children we were, at the
moment we were, might have
felt the gravity, the orbit but no, we
would be different, offset, and
lost to the moment, we think now,
that we missed.

Rethinking the sky, the night, the
moment’s recitations, I am silent in this
orbit and wishing nothing more
than knowing you now, feeling and
driven by emotion, bathing in our
technicolor solitudes
together.