Empty as the twist of flames around
a phantom’s body, as the golden nomenclature
of light in autumn’s room. Empty as wisteria-vines
full of rattling seeds, as the pink travelogues
of distant summers. No more will the fat moon
kiss my slumber, or the thinning darkness waif away.
Mirages tumble down from the absolute conviction,
science teeters towards belief.
On the road out of dawn-break, we are always changing,
moving closer to the sublunar self, our secret orbits.
No one but the body knows the cartography
of tides, the moon’s ecstatic blueprints.
Nothing but our bones can hold the otherworldly ache.
Bright and sacrificial, we lay down the heart’s desires
and find a bigger music there.
Seth Jani lives in Seattle, WA and is the founder of Seven CirclePress. Their work has appeared in Chiron Review, Rust+Moth and Pretty Owl Poetry, among others. Their full-length collection, Night Fable, was published by FutureCycle Press in 2018. Visit them at sethjani.com.