After Wisława Szymborska / The Possibilities Project

I prefer weather o­­­­­n my horizon -
Remember, it was fear that sent us to the moon.
Shoeprints like grey scuffs in a subway station
Sneaking under the silent roads of our nation.

Remember, it was fear that sent us to the moon.
I prefer stars reflected in the eyes of a space dog,
Spinning above the silent roads of our nation
The loyalty of orbit, falling on and on and on.

I prefer stars reflected in dark concentric circles.
Dive into black water and you will learn,
Falling on and on and on, that bioluminescence
Makes a ghost of you, shadows what will come.

Because when you climb from the black water,
You’re gone. I prefer being salty to sweet,
I prefer tomorrow’s ghosts, the red shift over blue,
Knowing the universe grows the space it grows into.

After you’re gone, remember time is shaped
Like a figure eight. That’s what makes us safe.
I prefer growing into what we have lost:
The smoking rooms on airships, where one man

Held the lighter. That’s what made them safe.
Not just anyone could walk around with fire.
Smoking rooms are a thing of the past and living
Is a foreign language you learn as you go.

Not just anyone knows that prison is the same
Word in English as in French. So is poem.
I prefer the foreign. When I was young, I cut
and glued moonshots, far off news of the Russians.

We want to know words we are not allowed to know.
I prefer not to make bold statements in writing.
The magazines called 1989 the “end of history” -
Tell that to now. I prefer the absurdity of

Writing boldly in the accent of a dialect
Learned late. Grey shoeprints in a subway station,
The frayed edges of a long shot waiting for the train.
Possibility. I prefer weather on my horizon.