Press the button and the heavens
unfold, stars chasing stars, silence
spreading, childish delight as illusion
summons presence, the weight
of night. And so conceived the mind
sways toward sleep, skin suddenly
abstract to touch, words whispered,
lingering, for the listener to pick apart.
You will feed this dissonance, this
failing art, the body’s cruel admission
that close is never close enough.
Tonight the hunting pack is loose,
the sane suburb gleaming with snow
and ice—a full moon flooding
the frozen lake, crowning brooding pines,
the frenzied cries of the hunt, the kill.
Quiet, let the night huntsman fly you,
let the stars once more unwind.