Evening Song

I am falling in love at a great distance.
I am using a non-Euclidean telescope.

An ant traverses the motherboard of a supercomputer.
I saw this in a movie.

The night sky looks a lot like one would expect it to.
The night sky sounds like? Feels like? Tastes like?

The night sky is as big as the Internet.
There is a procession of ants moving across it.

I am falling in love with a great distance.
It feels like a river. It tastes like smoke.

Through a Keplerian telescope, the sky is clearer but inverted,
the way it is in memory.

The ants have started nervously to wander.
They aren't sure what they're doing here.

You were always one to ask a lot of questions.
I will sit silently on my hands until morning.

Long, Long, Long

Your mother is driving, or
maybe your ex-girlfriend. The road
makes a sound like your fingers
in your ears. You are warm, and
the window feels like a cold palm
against your palm. It is black
water. It is the pupil of a dark eye.

She begins, softly, to sing
along with the radio. You hadn't
realized it was on. It is
a Beatles song, one you know
you should be able to place. Pretty
and short. It stops, she stops.
The car keeps humming forwards.

It is raining. You are on the edge
of sleep. Every few seconds,
a brightness rushes past.
It is an irregular heartbeat.