Something else about the morning

I saw you dancin’
You moved like Sinatra
On speed
- “-” by Stephen Fretwell

There’s a screen covering the window
I lifted to breathe. It’s too hot in here.

And I’d like for you
to stay, to color the scar
on the back of my hand, to straighten the wick

on the candles I burn, to dangle
our legs from the ledge
just to feel the breeze and hold onto

the frame. There’re rockets
falling down from space, jetsam
burning streaks in a sky that needed
to lay its hand on a stove. I watched the

moon landing today; and through the
dust in my eyes all I
could think of was you

on rollerblades, dashing around,
making comets jealous since you could
handle the heat of the sun.