jupiter

we sighed too loud & our breath
scattered jupiter apart into thousands
of little droplets. rosary beads on
the spider's web. she counts for
us, for girls who love girls who
love boys who like girl-boys who love
their bodies out of mirrors. a hand to
the glass-- i helped myself walk 
out from the frame & told the other half 
of me to sleep under the bed for the both
of us. i said that we should probably
do the work & put the planet back together.
we started with the red eye-- hoping
its pieces would be easier to find--
blinking at the bottom of the refrigerator
next to the dried out baby carrots.
i scolded the eye how did you get here
&, of the course, the eye berated me about
having exhaled so close to the weakest planet.
i didn't mean to but we both, deep down,
wanted to know what would happen to jupiter
under pressure-- how many fragment 
the planet would break into. we break
pretty cleanly in two. still sleeping
beneath the bed-- a nightmare strumming
my temples-- ukulele thunder. 
with the eye back together we hung it on
the wall in the vestibule so that it
could watch for intruders-- not that anyone
comes around here anymore. i warned you
of the flecks of jupiter in the ice cube
tray-- scattered in your sweating glass
of lemonade. i love you because you swallowed
the shreds-- no second thought. we'll get
jupiter back in our own time. when you 
finally went to bed was when the guilt set in.
i took a stroll out to my car in the parking
lot to find i left the inside light on--
beads dangling from the rear view mirror.
i puzzle-put them back up past mars who 
pulled his red baseball cap over his eyes--
rolled over. eventually i promise you, jupiter
i will find them all, all the little pieces.
these things take time. these things take time.