Once a woman in the zero
gravity of a vacuum chamber fell
into unconsciousness as if into a bed
of asters assembled from a flash-
back of stars—and the last thing
she remembered before blackout was the noise
of saliva boiling on her tongue.
Turns out birds need gravity
to swallow, so they couldn’t survive in space
even if they had the right kind of wings
to arrive. I’m starting to believe
in angels outside my window.
They sound like clumsy kids knocking
their front teeth together in prelude
to sex, that little snare
drum among the unstoppable symphony
that is the opposite of a closet,
in other words what is sky.
Front page image by Luz Adriana Villa.