I will paper your invitation
to the sky; universe your logic
the sound barrier; now I sand
have spectrumed my appetite?
I could eat consonants
whole, like M or B, swallow
the hues of my found vocabulary
and deliver unto you an uncertain
interpretation of Einstein’s
cosmological constant. Complexion
me and blush to know: Here I am.
Orbiting. Never having left. Conceding
gravitas. Come away. Gone never.
Have I and were we and where.
("Orbital" appears in Crack the Spine, issue 70)