and as I’m driving through traffic I listen
to him explain about
the rise and fall of testosterone with the
shortening and lengthening of days
as the sun pulls our blood by
invisible threads
coaxing chemicals from glands, like
glass eels hunting the moon.
As I work and pay bills and drive home
and cook a dinner I can’t remember tasting,
my body still knows the sound of the sun,
and the feel of night fingers reaching
inside me.
Even here, buried by the world,
the stars find us.
