we would have liked the moon
unshrouded, declaring itself
in August, but we’ll take
the vagrant yellow barely visible
amidst thick clouds
we would have liked the rain
sufficient to revive the ferns,
the farmers’ fields, the well, the hay
otherwise lost, animals parched
even the hurricane failed
to provide
one leans into seasons
as if they were imperishable
as if the earth revolved the same
as ever, dumb core shrouded
by cooler layers and a sky
itself divided into sheltering parts
I am not drunk
as I write this
by which I mean type this
I am at most slightly buzzed
by a Jamaican rum
a Turner night sky
become an Ofili blueblack
a night sky that doesn’t yet reign
in video games or porn
everyone wants clean sheets
amidst the stones and holes