The world’s been mapped
satellites circumnavigate this sphere a thousand times a day
so we can read license plates a thousand miles away
and still
street lights are oblivious to the traffic flow
and stop me even though I’m the only one on the street at 4 a.m
late getting to the airport
thank God the heart is left to program itself
so I can fall out of the sky
a rusted, busted satellite
fall
crashing
and having the good sense to ignore sense
artists of all breeds
the painters, the poets, the musicians have all proved themselves illiterate trying to design
bisect and dissect love
in works they produced by themselves at lonely desks
through lonely canvasses and carcasses
while we fly above them all with that first kiss
which sparked electronic tectonic tidal waves
splashing like fingers of fire
sweeping across the water’s skin
brighter than the fingernail of God
playing in the waves
of the oceans of the heavens
that came crashing out of the sky
like the Ganges
as the river chases itself
round and round
as satellites follow themselves round fixed in ruts in space
I pull up to the airport parking lot
jump out of the car
and spirit through automatic sliding doors
to find you
returned to me.