When the clouds sicken and molt,
when the flies grow and their drone
is as big as bombers, when the moon
has melted and dripped its ashes
into the upturned mouths of our
baby birds, most important
isn’t what happens next. More essential
than the outcome is the cause.
Something will be done about
the moon—they’ll tuck its insides
back into its body—but it’ll never
be the image in our perfect imagining
again. And the marred sky will stay
with me. It’s important, what happens
beneath, hidden by my inattention,
beyond the light, on the used moon’s
underbelly; in the remote order
within the coming swarm of flies.
CJ Evans is the author of A Penance and The Category of Outcast, and is the editor of Two Lines Press, the publishing program of the Center for the Art of Translation.