no one really hears. We gaze into the night
as if remembering the bright unbroken planet
we once came from,
to which we will never
be permitted to return.
We are amazed how hurt we are.
We would give anything for what we have.
-Tony Hoagland
this calm is betrayed
by the dizzy thrashing
against our windows
warm in our shell of glass and plaster
rooted against the world’s wet winds
I press my palms against the storm
but nothing exists through glass,
it is only an illusion, they say,
the bending of burnt sand
we are on one side,
lulled to sleep by the fireplace,
and it is best not to trust the other
even if the visible
is so excruciatingly clear
we settle back down
onto our couches
of marmalade lullabies
and ignore the weather
