Goodnight, Iris Duarte

From the top of our sleeping hill
she exhausts her lungs barking like a carnival talker
and I am spent.
After an excess of feelings and a costly climb to kiss the moon
I have nothing left
but the diamonds of her eyes that children perished to unearth;
the heart of America-

She says she can fly and stretches her arms out over Tennessee
only to lift off like a feather and crash back to me
coming down harder than my thoughtless words of dismissal.
She’s mine and I’m hers,
like the night owns the stars-

We’ve been out here so long, we can see rays of the sun stretching towards us,