Lied for the Moon and the Evening Star

in a lonely woman’s world

each crack in the walls

is a twinge among the ribs

the neighbors’ footsteps

weigh on her chest when she breathes

if rats teem in the basement

cold shivers climb her back

 

elsewhere a mother breastfeeds and a child cries

in the lonely woman’s house clocks get rusty

barometers and zippers

everything flows

when it rains her body is like a moist biscuit

from supplies hidden in trenches

by future unknown heroes

 

far from the city walls

the river grinds the stones slowly

in winter under ice

around loneliness the canopy of heaven

closes like a placenta

with veins from blue stars

 

the woman files her nails into flesh