Night Sky with Exit Wounds

by Ocean Vuong

Because the bombed cathedral is now a cathedral of trees.

If you must know anything, know that the hardest task is to live only once.

Stars. Or rather, the drains of heaven—waiting. Little holes. Little centuries opening just long enough for us to slip through.

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

My mother said I could be anything I wanted—but I chose to live.

As if my finger, / tracing your collarbone / behind closed doors, / was enough / to erase myself. To forget / we built this house knowing / it won’t last. How / does anyone stop / regret / without cutting / off his hands?

Don’t we touch each other just to prove we are still here? I was still here once.

That to say your name is to hear the sound of clocks being turned back another hour & morning finds our clothes on your mother’s front porch, shed like week-old lilies.

Maybe we pray on our knees because god only listens when we’re this close to the devil.

Use it to prove how the stars were always what we knew they were: the exit wounds of every misfired word.

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