GOODNIGHT MOON

aside from your grandmother's cotton blanket checkered
in a sanguine and scarlet plaid pattern and the faint
taste of copper on the tongue, the damp impressionable
Fall grass on top of which we sit,

a corn field is necessary and all the crickets that
hide in the tall cut stalks, too, and the black scarf
covering your neck, keeping away the cut and bite of
howling winds, that's another important thing

if we want to enjoy this meteor shower tonight, what's
most required is a consistently cold temperature, one
which makes visible the invisible heat of inner breaths
and the quick pace of it

there's a certain beauty in the not knowing whether we
shake with impatience awaiting the event, this momentary
transcending by reminder of our insignificance among the
billions of stars and galaxies

or whether it's simply from the frigid breeze and light
sweaters, and the loss of gloves for hand holding

at any rate, it's absolutely necessary for both of us to be cold in this moment

so we have a reason to hold each other;

for the opportunity to practice hugs

to reveal how warm it is inside of us

for a moment to express love simply in one innocent act