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When we kissed the sky didn’t look
like Gleason in The Honeymooners.
Come to think of it, we both
resemble Jackie now except
that he’s dead. Alive,
we’re remembering tithonias,
a bold orange light
shown right in the moon’s face—
it’s only love, it’s only everything,
it’s only new bulbs
we snug in before
the ground freezes.
Tagged: Issue Two, Ken Pobo, poetry, Spring 2013