A moon so big, it’s hard to wrap
your arms around its wide belly. Bitterness
exists in a coffee mug on my windowsill.
The more I wish the more I know he will arrive
late. Beneath these ribs, there is a ruby forest. Sleep
with him and at least you’ll be held. Through the night,
I dream that all the pines fall. I dream that God
is spun sugar. Pink and full, he melts into the dawn.