In the Wash of the Solar Eclipse

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.