Beyond There is not one bright star she can name but more than a billion burning her eyes fat dizzy to the void. Shrewd orbits spinning in galaxy dust. Sailing comets glisten gone fiery tales burning in fictive beauty. Her disorder - explosions of imagination. The voices within her universal cluster. She thinks the skies are laughing at her. Ya know, I say, they probably are. There is no moon tonight. Skies crowded by chubby clouds. Our bed will be cold. In her zodiac zones light years away her horror- scope keeps our love peeking into corners of her endless angled cosmos. Somewhere I must be there to fall - a star to make her odd universe- a wish come true. Oh heavens - all things we do not know of each other. Our hearts orbit this love as comets collide. Ya know, I say, they probably are.
David Bowman is the founding member of the Clemson Writer’s group. His poems have appeared in The Atlanta Review, Badlands, Wayne State Review, Mid-West Review, Pea River Journal and others. He is currently working on a collection of short stories set in Wyoming.