Despair has taken on the shape
each cloud leaves afterwards
–you reach across the hole

one hand crazed
a moon rising from the other
as if there were crossroads

and the sky winds down
into evenings that are not yours
–an unbearable headwind

weakened past sorrow, past drift
past sleep and your breath lies down
where nothing holds on

–you don’t save the pieces, it’s useless
–you look up and the air
little by little is led

past emptiness :the no lips
that are not a face, not a voice
and from your arms.