Everett Jones

From Orbit

Lost stars skate away and vanish
into something we don’t

know because we’re not
there, so we call it darkness. When you show me 

your skin up close, so close
I can watch the green of your eyes speckle

into coffee, I realize you’re a stereoscope
while I lap Earth like a comet, 

like I’ve escaped. After years in black
nothing, I glance between my feet—a frame 

for the denim tint of daybreak so far
below it should just flicker 

out. Sometimes, I wonder how
things would change if I could 

stop drifting. If I could beat physically
your picture out of my head. If concussions 

were conclusions. If space
weren’t so cold.

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Everett Jones is a student in the creative writing program at Salisbury University. He has poems published or forthcoming in Hunger Mountain, Sink Hollow and The Inflectionist Review. He is an editor for 149 Review. Outside of the writing world, he is a multi-instrumentalist with a love for alternative music.