I haven't gazed at the sky in years.
This is history. The air, blind to spatial strategy,
still. If I could find a story I would tell it,
but I don't need to discover images;
tags, tracks, symbols materialize unlike
the beer can and the other objects
abandoned below. Either accept time,
the lines, or move on. Either create signs,
signals, or wait for the shapes to become clearer--
a rock, a moon, a beer can,
stars, eyes, names
mark the quarry phantom. The flames
signal me to tell a beautiful story:
one, two, three.
If I could find the words,
hawks, or washed footprints...
I stand as close to the sky as I can,
hear the horizon hiss into flatness.
With only light to receive,
I have all that there is.
Gabrielle Kappes is a Ph.D. student in the English program at the CUNY Graduate Center. She lives in the Bronx, NY.