Q

The astronaut releases a letter into space

Today, the sun is orange.
Yoked by the too-slow turn of earth,
it has a different face where you are.

Today, the sun is orange, waking me
from dreams of hollow scapulas crumbling to touch.
Blinking, my fists close to a dust of faraway light.

–

The seafarer casts a letter into the ocean

I count fish bones the way I count days
we are apart. Fine, silvery threads pulled from
skin, lined in neat parallels that do not meet.

Where I am, the watery sun breaks like yolk over waves,
wave after wave on a lone axis, bringing me to you.

Q