If I beg and pray you to set me free, then bind me more tightly still.

— Homer

I’m striving to be a better astronaut,



but consider where I’m coming from,







the exosphere,



a desk where the bluest air







thins to a lip. Impossible



to know the difference







from where I sit and space.



I promise I still dream







of coming back to you, settling



on your yellow for the kitchen.







We won’t fight. Let it not manifest.







Not over the crumpled bodies



of laundry. Let us not row



over the nail polish, its color,







the spilled sun. Inspiration



is the deadliest radiation.



It never completely leaves the bones.







You know.



From here,







there are no obstructions



but the radiant nothingness. An aurora







borealis opens







like a fish. This. To the pyramids, yes,



to a great wall. And there you are,







moving from curtain to curtain. O, to fantasize



of having chosen



some design with you.







But the moons over Jupiter. But



asteroids like gods



deadened by the weight of waiting. I remember







you said pastel







for the cabinet where the spice



rack lives. That I ought’ve picked you







up flowers when I had a chance. Daisy, iris, sun.



Red roses. Ultraviolet,



the color of love



(what else but this startles the air open







like an egg?).



I’m really trying







to be better, to commit



to memory the old songs about the ground,



to better sense your latitudes,







see the corona of your face.



Take your light







as it arrives. Earth is heavenly



too. But know that time is precious



here. How wine waits years and years to peak.







What is there to do: I’ve made love



to satellites in your name.







I’m saying I can’t say



when I’ll return. Remember me, for here are







dragons and the noble songs of sirens.



Stars that sway



elysian. Ships that will not moor, lovers







who are filled with blood and nothing



more. Who could love you



like this? Who else will sew you in the stars?







Who better knows your gravity and goes



otherwise, to catastrophe?







I’ve schemed and promised



to bring you back a ring







from Saturn. But a week passes, or doesn’t







manage. Everything steers impossible



against the boundless curb of light.







Believe I tried



for you. Against space. Time







takes almost everything



away. To you. For you.



A toast to the incredible. I almost wish







I’d never seen the sky



when always there was you. Sincerely,





