In the gloaming, in the roiling night

The hurt returns as it always intended-it is tender

as the inside of my thighs, it is as blue, too. O windless,

wingless sky, show me your empire of loneliness,

let me spring from the jaws of what tried to kill me.

Let me look at your face and see a heaven worth having, all

your sorry angels falling off a piano bench, laughing.

Do you burn because you remember darkness? Outside

the joy is clamoring. It is almost like the worst day of your life

is ordinary for everyone else.