There is a beauty in the hunger, I said to myself at 9:09 at night. I thought I was being deep, but I was just lazy from lack of sleep and food. To fill up your insides leaves you with the patience to pause and look up when you are outside. There are stars and constellations and spaces between my fingers where I let the juice from the peach slip through. Where are you tonight? Are you looking at the Big Dipper through blurry eyes like I am? Leave the Little Dipper alone. We'll find him together.
Still I can't see. Still I can't see what I've stolen for myself. I thought I could trap the entire northern sky in a Mason jar. If it can preserve food, it can contain and save what we almost lost. Right? But then I'm still left with the leftovers of an entire galaxy. Does it save? Can we count on it for when the winter months hit us with a sheet of starvation? Let's wrap up in a stream of stars, dead but white hot.
We know no limit. We walk until we collapse. The oxen will carry us now. A home hides behind the shower of meteors tonight.
And you are a myth. And I am a handle. And we grasp on to each other in order to empty ourselves over and over.