I remember how you looked at me
the first time you sat down
and I said something eventually.
I want everyone to believe in me.
And nights keep happening again
when I have to turn on
the heater and the artificial light
and wonder where the sun really is,
why it’s not here,
and yeah you could blame science for all of its reality
in words that might sound different than your words, but so be it.
Nights are dense with the other thoughts --
like the underside of tree limbs after a day of snow.
[image: vicky moon]