We are stars
trying to collide,
objects caught in
our orbits dashed to
rocks in process mean
nothing; we merge. Made
massive, other light is bent
in our direction so we keep
shadows hoarded under
skin we share, no place
for hidden hazards in
paths plotted long
before we were
given names
or breath.

Selected byJordan Trethewey
Image credit: Robert Sullivan
James Spears

Born and raised in El Paso, now living in Albuquerque, writing to work light back into the veins.