NewPoetry

Leigh Kotsilidis

We wade at the edge
of what is beyond us

There is nothing more
than delusion

Men mistake porch bulbs
for moons

A body drifts indeterminately
unnoticed

Every body leaves
over time

We each belong to a search party
looking for ourselves

The signs are never the same
when we return

There is a different word
for sky here

The last breath
belongs to the resolute

If outer space were not soundproof
we would hear the sun as a chainsaw

Space appears empty
even when exploding with wind

We must learn to hold our instruments
without making a sound

What will convince you?

The stars are so distant,
nothing we do will ever affect them