creation

confused in the guessing of your mathwork
it's too late to be early saying words

then the eyes not windows to black space
tools for the moon to breathe your grin in my way

i need your name said a few times at night with the window
open cold or crisp or complete darkness around me

i question i answer i poem i nothing i fall through
because you are beautiful is not the meaning of air

to be this nothing is a far away floating grain
waiting to explode from dust to a billion human things