Aurora Borealis

All summer I pray to see the aurora borealis

wrap its bright knives. Vault. Firmament. Welkin.

Have you heard when your lover dies, their name breaks

between the atrium and aortic? Empyrean.

Shield. Yonder. Flares push south. All summer,

the horizon. If I listen beneath the river

of verdigris, will I hear him speak my name?

Have you heard the sound of the magnetosphere,

its hiss and pop, staccato? No moon. Just syllables,

all the names, these stranger’s fields. Have you heard?

If you whistle beneath the aurora borealis, lights

will alert to your presence. If you sing, they will

carry you away. Flashing violet. Wild Blue. Listen