CJ Evans
I’m delighted I’m still alive and still
have time to witness the arctic night
or the mimic octopus, and to marvel
at least once more at how light comes
from within the heart of your hair’s
woven nest. At the mirror, you’re
as serious as a radio tower, receiving,
as alone as a buoy braving the waves
to bring a ship in safely, but your hair
is a screaming wet spiderweb of light
that reminds me that the clouds
will never be stopped, that color
can’t be destroyed, that I might still
see the earth from above, and that all
of life is only once, but it glows.