Night Sky with Exit Wounds

by Ocean Vuong

Because the bombed cathedral is now a cathedral of trees.

How like the wind, they will see him. They will see him clearest when the city burns.

There are hands fluttering between the constellations, trying to hold on.

He laughs despite knowing he has ruined every beautiful thing just to prove beauty cannot change him.

If you must know anything, know that you were born because no one else was coming.

Maybe the body is the only question an answer can’t extinguish.

a b c a b c a —the pencil snaps. The b bursting its belly as dark dust blows through a blue-lined sky.

Brooklyn’s too cold tonight & all my friends are three years away.

Dusk: a blade of honey between our shadows, draining.

It’s not about the light—but how dark it makes you depending on where you stand.

Quick. Can you see the red dark shifting? This means I am touching you. This means you are not alone—even as you are not.

Turn back & find the book I left for us, filled with all the colors of the sky forgotten by gravediggers. Use it. Use it to prove how the stars were always what we knew they were: the exit wounds of every misfired word.

& sometimes your hand is all you have to hold yourself to this world

Why do all my books leave me empty-handed?

The most beautiful part of your body is where it’s headed. & remember, loneliness is still time spent with the world.