The stars spin
around her room,
like we are underwater,
in a fishbowl
in a house
in a life
of coming and going.

The rain has started and
the mornings are
so dark, stars bleed into
the hallway, on the floor
of the kitchen where
the cat paws at the rug.

The stream of cosmos
orient me, as I adjust to light
and the mirror comes
into focus—my face unfamiliar.
wrinkled, bagged eyes.
Dark roots, screaming their
way from my scalp.
Lips, thinner.
Skin, softer.
Heart, finally beating
at a normal pace.

Luminary light, violet and green,
drowns me until
I close my eyes and run
from the dizzy I’m
flood me with.
Her face, washed in
nightlight cut out moon,
is seraph and strawberry.

The sun erupts in the sky.
We never power the stars off.

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