Quintet For A Lonely Planet

What prayer must we speak,
beforehand? My planet, my soul.
Worse than unloved, we are unimagined.


Some nights I lay on my back tense,
waiting for a train to come by.
Patient, like a dewdrop,
or a bad case of pox.
In the mirror, I see only a broken radio
with no sound.


Perhaps I could not fall in love with Saturn,
but I adore Saturn nonetheless. Meanwhile,
a galaxy more complicated than mine is calling for my heart.
But what can I give to something
that I cannot understand?


What is an environ-
mental exit?
                                    Like asking
                                    a stag to leap
                                    from its own


Please, let us not speak about the death of dreams.
The brightest still build steel birds
that flies through the stars. They promise,

tonight, we are your imagination.
The heart needs no rest if we are together,
even when we are apart.
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