the sun
the falling of salt
into tides, and ink dark,
we are sun inside,
a black canvas,
printed with white diving doves:
the pressure of evening,
this window glow,
why am i always outside
looking in, orchids
inside of glass houses,
i’m nothing without
the defining gaze,
sends me into a whirlwind
of hats and umbrellas,
birds who protect their young.
put the needle on the record,
loop churchbells,
loop daytime, loop
you and i walking
like ghosts shoulder to shoulder
in falling rain.
i’m always outside looking in.
imagining what it would be like
to be the sun.