The Doorway

water slides down wires

still passing through the heart

no accounting for what

each dead planet with its cargo

spinning fast in slung-back blackness

the coffee of night sky full of punctures

and she turns in the doorway

a twist of smoke at the base of the spine

the ember of tired eyes and

so bemused as she had found and lifted the net

what laughter she could allow

fragments of glass left from the crash

rain on the struts of a guitar