The World

Ariana Den Bleyker

A new day is forming in the kind

of sky or ocean or plain

where you can see the edge

of a dream in all directions

& it opens to you, & you let it in

the stars—too-bright cliches arrested in space,

belting a scintillant song

no one hears or cares to hear—

slivers of random energy

or asteroids or comets,

the inter-weavings of push & pull,

binary systems orbiting

the joy of discovering / of forgetting—

beams of light traveling

to splinter the corner of your eye,

shift, then shine beyond

the reach of the earth,

where the deliberateness of whales

moving such incredible mass over

empty spans of ocean—

humpbacks resting, face-down,

staring into the cerulean abyss,

alone but also singing,

propel themselves heedlessly

toward, through, & past the surface,

as though they are attempting

to fully take flight, to escape with finality,

the omnipresent, furrowed gaze

of the void—rise above the silver water

flowing out from under moon-less-ness,

beautiful daughters of the stars

dancing in eclipse,

remembering the season of the sun

& how they survived

another long migration—

collective consciousness

a huge purple blue bruise

or gaping wound

swallowing everything

or a fox speaking about cunningness

& how to trap a bird in your jaw,

with a worm in its beak

who will teach you

life’s a hidden hook.