Reading Time: 1 Minutes
Tonight the moon rings against my teeth
like cast-iron played with a mallet.
I hold my imaginary life out
over a hard clay roof
and shake its excesses over the world,
the scent of phosphates saturating the atmosphere.
Whatever you want from
family you should say
before it is too late. I should know
because love slipped beneath my straw
slippers and dashed away
before I could ascertain
if it was a furred creature or a reflection
of a traveling light. My stomach aches now
in the room without a door,
in the republic with no bright flag.
It wakes me in the small hours
and reminds me of a little-known
life past, in which I could stand
rooted in my own feet
and lift my chin up to greet
the imaginary firmament.