from laaura goldstein _crash landing_

i do revel in how a mist will mix with the cold stars’ richness and burn so distant, travel through voids of warmth to fall and land as blue light. that night, the white tense of substance pulsing ten times slower than a vein: i’m on a roof again, resembling an engine still running. i’m angled into tarred squares that grip my soles and i’m smoking, hair in strips after solstice reveals a stillness not often known, eight blocks from where my mother was grown

and what indifferent air we have here that can’t feel at all to love me in return

and that i could not imagine any human could learn