prologue

morning takes no prisoners. days collapse
over each other & i remember everything

i have yet to tell you. more often i
mistake my mother’s face for the moon—

pores calcified like exit wounds.
she sheds silver & leaves me

to pick up the pieces. another sparrow
surrenders to our window & i like to imagine

the crashing as the sound of a god
proven false & i can’t help but wonder

how dandelions pierced themselves
into existence & made mockery of

split ends. then october came & melancholy
became a poem i’ve rehearsed dozens

of times & hunger lingered like
a burnt tongue. & maybe we never

believed in aliens, but i still sat parallel
to the moon’s shadow & waited for the night

to birth a miracle.