You want to know how I feel
in the wash of the solar eclipse?
Walking by the marsh I’m sure
the crickets are onto something.
Their song becomes more brittle
as sunlight fades and shadows
lose their edges. I feel like
joining their chorus, but rubbing
my legs together for sound
has never worked well, even
when wearing corduroy trousers,
so I’ll remain as silent as snow.
You want to know if doubts
about the depth of the universe
and the time lapse of galaxies
ruffle my dreams of women
lurching around on horseback
or sifting heaps of pages torn
from the world’s cruelest scriptures.
No, but last night I dreamt
that you asked my wife to bake
a cake that was evenly moist
with no raw spots in the middle.
Yes, I know you’re my wife
and also an expert baker,
but the threat of the eclipse
shaped this dream. What threat?
The loss of faith in sky gods?
Worry that the moon will stick
to the sun and extinguish it?
The dark surfs over the sky
with a stark and deep indifference
that for a moment hushes
the crickets. Stars wink and blink,
out too early. I feel too small
to inhabit this expanded space;
but as the moment passes and light
ebbs back into our life I almost
taste the lovely cake you baked
to feed both my ego and id.