After you’re gone
I scour dead light,
coded impulses hurtling
through blood-dark space;
island suns that broadcast
their lonely semaphore.
My heart’s a pulsar
sweeping the night,
warm breath on cold glass
condensing to gas clouds,
constellations.
I search until
the stars switch off
and the shore of sky
weathers your bones to dust
Karen Dennison
From Of Hearts, published by Broken Sleep Books. First published in erbacce.
Featured image from NASA website
Karen Dennison 