Time of Celestial Bodies

When I use another’s eyes to look at you, I cannot see you.

And when I use myself to look at you, I can see nothing but sorrow.

The peapods grow fat—in those moments I’ve never existed.

The summer pulls a singing nerve out of curled up petals

yet the sun still beats on the earth—

crumble it to pieces, squeeze out its citrus bitterness—

the spectrum of red blood cells—every dried up nub—

rub your palms together—until your hands

pass through the many mountain folds of tolling bells

in a closed up amphora

all the flames sleep peacefully