When the moon falls out of the sky

We stop our cars by the side of the highway

And open our mouths.

The light pours through our fingertips,

Leaves a trail in the grass.

We glow in the dark, our rage

Fills our bodies with butterflies.

Thousands of us march, lit

By our own insides, searching

For the ones still covered in darkness.

We light up trees with our touch,

Place our hands on mammals

We used to hunt. No need

For food now that we’re plugged

Into the fire left over from the sun.

The silver settles within

Our blood. We lift

Our hands to the ink-

Dark sky and fold

Down a corner

To dog-ear the night.

We will want to remember how it happened

That the scenery held in place

By such thin and fraying strings

Came crashing down

Not with a thud but with

The tinny sound of spilled light,

And how we didn’t see it coming

Nor did we expect the light

To land in the rivers of our throats.

We will want to remember how quickly

We learned the sky

Was done with its light

And how fitting our bodies were

To catch it and turn it to song.