Andrew Zawacki

glassscape

Or the dance we do is
orrery—one around
the other & done, round the
sound to surround the
drowning, withershins &
wingèd, dizzy, waltzing with
day & with dark: or making love
to a laser bolt at the arc of
afternoon, her glow-
stick lipstick slick
& licorice

—lowwater, glassscape—

& phoe-
nixed
by her face
as if a trap
door in the trap door
alone might keep a gravity
aright:
you're a Luftwaffe of star
light, shot
thru a subway car,
& I'm nothing
if not all
lit
up