Selenographia

Some of you is lodged,
                must be,

somewhere between the sea
of serenity, or the lake of sleep,
or the marsh of sleep, or the sea.

Particles of solar wind, caught,
some whisker of skin fishings,
                I don’t know.
                I hope not
the sea of cold.
There was so little of you,

barely enough for the buried

crystalline drops we know now
are there, hardly
an ocean of storms.
                Honestly,

I know there’s an eye
brightening even when its full
waning’s waned,
                albedo of coal,
                light of ice,

but I can’t feel it.

Fingers caught in the classroom
door’s heavy hinge, how your sound
                tore through me,
knocking loose some stray ovum,

sea of crises, sea of fecundity,

risen and hovering,
not every sound keeps traveling,
some stay, like stoned gall,
bay of seething, straight through

to the bay of the center.
When that shriek descended
to the newly kaleidoscoped car,
many-faceted geodesic dome that propelled you

                somewhere,
sea of rains, sea of vapors,

I was no known sea.

                How the word
for indigo churning with its back to us means
noting all along at a certain distance.
                Now complex eye.

Up there, the air’s so thin
it can’t be mimicked, even in our best vacuum.
Down here, it’s the weight of two boots
on my sternum. Must you
keep orbiting at this
mean distance?

                What doesn’t descend,
                shouldn’t. If I hadn’t heard
even some of the words, you wouldn’t.

_______ you _______ Kyle?
He was ________ in a car ________.

I won’t accept this moon illusion,
a thing’s not bigger riding the horizon.
There’s only so long I’ll let these
high tides pull.

                Are you there Kyle?
                He was singing in a cartoon.

You have fourteen days
before lunar night turns to lunar noon.

                Have you heard, Kyle?
                He was hardly in a car ever.

I’m still ringing through loose strata.

Laika needs a lullaby and you
used to pet my dog’s soft ears.

Megan Gannon