In another 580 years, I'm going to

wake for the bruise, the tarnished penny
rise and dress and search and point and sigh
gaze at the glint on the bottom edge of rust
curb the urge to personify an ancient eye 

love him when he says it looks like all the rest
tell him, but, the last one was so long ago 
send him off to daughters with a sorrow kiss
hope he spots the wonder from the sky

drag the empty twin below our window
slip beneath the nail, the scythe, the lid
muse upon the paths to shed a shadow
sleep alone beneath this long eclipse

2021
for Dorell, our daughters and the moon