Pilgrims

In October, the light changes

safe from the sun until seven, with momentum

Or resolve, you can go on sleeping until almost eight.

Then the light rakes urgently, but luxuriously

There is a hand on, and his stomach, tense, becomes flat

Your thumb near where I was born.

And so it starts, wind blowing through

to inflate the space of sheets

In a radius you trace now with the little finger, ring finger

Index, of Pi

And whisper to him

And together they navigate the pilgrim’s progress

Of treacherous and forbidden passages

He reaches for this blizzard

Removed only by his long grey sleeves, and some degrees

Even that, torn away from history

Leaves them on opposite shores.

Her breath, crystallized (and digitalized) after so many weeks

Doesn’t diminish the scent

As the diameter and the circumference of the earth grow

And many ships feel the flat world bend

Towards this

Beginning.

There is, between two celestial bodies,

A pull

And a bunch of unscientific kissing.