qarrtsiluni

I lie on a bare mattress watching
blades of the ceiling fan slice lightning,
bat it in pieces from wall to wall,
fireworks in the room’s night sky.

I am thinking of you, and Habermas,
and of the logic of lightning,
how reasonably nature behaves
catapulted from sky to earth

to the rooms of human sleep,
and how unreasonable I am—heart-lens
awake in the dark, filtering nature’s design—
to feel in the pulse of rain pelting the window

your fingers of weeks, months ago,
still tangled in my hair.

by Robin Davidson

Read by Dave Bonta — Download the MP3

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