Songs in Space

The tick and trill
of longing, of hearts
baptized in the cool unknowing
of this new nothing
between us

how vanished throats
do not forget their prayers
but merely let them rest

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Viridity

A stretch of sidewalk
so overgrown
it feels like jungle
like hate on the skin
like eyes in the night
like bodies trapped
beneath sheets

All that heat’s got nowhere to go
but into our lungs
past dry throats
to that blank space
at the end of your last sentence,
the dead air at the bottom of the page

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Chris Blexrud is an editor and writer living in New Orleans.