we aren’t many

(us midnight dwellers,

we rooftop stargazers)

we’re here talking with cracked-open skulls

showing you our brains full of stars.

we write with cut-open chests

about the galaxies between our ribs

with a heart as a moon

and we can’t sleep for fear of the dark

that comes when we close our eyes

(silent people with tired eyes is all you see

and you stitch us closed in your sleep)

our galactic chests rise and fall

with one breath (a life, a world)

and another

our star-studded heads are unbrushed

the night is deep as space

and silent as us

and we lie here on the rooftops

(as...

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