James Welsh

I could never tell where
the fireflies end and
the lightning begins –
they’re all blank, jagged
splatters crowded
on the deep night
canvas. All an origami
landscape creped
around this world – our world.

We can goodbye
across continents
and still the sunset that I sleep to
is the sunrise that wakes you up.

Our dusks and dawns
all look the same,
each a chord tight on our
black-and-white nights
and days – all songed together
into a sun that weathers down
as rains of rays raise up
the cornstalks while at the
same time raze them down.

All these things are different – like you and me.
All these things are the same – like us.