Lay Here Look

Look up at the moon
Press your fingers to my chest
Crush the darkness
The grass blades burn,
Itches skin on flesh on calves and hamstrings
Even after the sprinkler scatted
Moisture evaporates leaving us frigid
Hear Junebugs mettle through toward any light
Hear cars hurl almost like an ocean tide only
The highway points north south and never reflects
The curvature of our world
Across the horizon where high beams lean
On arms resting in window jambs
Across the world a series of veering lights
Pump like veins just beneath thin aged skin
Hear them, see them from the moon, wince or wink
You said “Up There, Look” but,
Even here, in the wet blades, I can see them coming