from Dear Sal

I am coming, Sal.
In a beat-up Plymouth, powered by stars.
Down a road of stars through trees of stars.
Every button of my brand new suit is a star.
My cufflinks, stars, I wear a star in my lapel.
I washed my hair with a handful of stars.
The sky shaken loose, I lathered my beard.
I’m coming to you with a bouquet of stars.
With a blanket of stars & a basket of stars.
With a bottle of stars & a banquet of stars.
For years I have pulled stars from my body:
Here is the joy, here is the grief, here is
the slaughter I have shaped into stars.
I have polished the stars & buried them.
Stars of my nipples, stars of my knees,
stars of my vertebrae, stars of my lungs.
An orchard has grown, it is heavy & yours.
I will gather the fruit & transport it to you.
See how it falls from my pockets & armpits.
My bones are stars & the stars are for you.
My wound is a star & my wound is for you.
We’ll hold these stars to each other’s lips.
& drink the ghosts from each other’s stars.
I am coming to you with a wedding of stars,
a meadow of stars & a chuppah of stars,
a book of stars with our song written in it.
If the hush returns with its claws unbroken
we’ll be there Sal, with stars in our knuckles,
stars in our hammer, stars in our singing.
A volley of stars will pummel this country.
The absence, eaten by packs of stars.
A voice will speak in the voice of a star.
A voice will speak & the river will stand.
The river will stand & I love you Sally.
I love you Sally & the river will carve
our names into the dark.