The World Ends Every Few Days

For Jacob

The world ends every few days

the sun sets, the moon rises 

just to fall back down again

the wind blows just to get 

lost and fizzle out alone

There was no time to dance.

We left with the Sun 

to go join the moon.

I threw my roses in the backseat,

and my heels onto Broad

to tread in our pity.

Downtown, under the light

of a noodle shop,

a man across the floor

faked a phone call 

to get a better look

at us all dressed up

51 dollars for a stoner

piece of pottery

that was as fragile 

as the night.

A dark walk back,

we looked for a guide

to walk us by the

crowd we had deserted.

On the ride home

he told me how

he talks to the day

and talks to the night.

We wanted to cry, but

the stars were still out,

we had places to go.

At the breakfast—

too early of a morning.

We considered drinking

but wrote it off

as too much of a risk.

We sat and watched the

drunkenness of others,

joyfully here nor there.

The opening of a door

diluted their drinks

and our intoxication

of the room.

Hugs and kisses

were there, but

from just a few—

We saw the moon, 

and imagined that 

it stayed in place.

Maybe it was just us

or my mascara

that wouldn't run.

On the ride home

we called a friend

to make sure

the stars were not

as lonely as they seemed. 

But it was true—

when the moon falls

the stars fall too

And when the world ends

sometime this week

ask the day about

the night and tell them

how we outran both—

stuck under the moon,

alone with the stars