Poem by Christopher Citro & Dustin Nightingale

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I FEAR WE HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE

I'm sorry, despite the beauty of the first tulip under my
flashlight all I can see is this darkness pressing in on us. 
You're upstairs asleep in bed, but I know you're feeling it
too. A satellite's passing over us and I'm sending it wishes it
makes it across the sky without falling in love with what it
records. The words of a radio DJ floating above a lake. Let
them go. Uppermost leaves of a beech tree. Allow that to
sway away. You roll over, crushing a breast slightly beneath
you. Rain clouds. Owl sounds in your birth town travelling
over the water, through the leaves and in your window. It's
silly really, the way we pretend to hold hands with earth and
time. Yet still, my heart is filled with this lonely migration. 
The distant boiling of a dog bark, the soup of an even further
wind chime, our necks still hot with yesterday's sun. 

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