I go with my wings to the edge of the earth,
I deliberate faith and the breaking of eggs. Oh, oh,
I moved here against the vacuum of your wanting 
for love; I’m continentally-far with these wide-
swooping crows. You’re the edge of the earth
falling away from my toes. You’re the turquoise planes
of irrational expanse, of total undoing, of goosebumping 
belief. Where the stars unroll, winking with power, 
(which you futilely want, being also the land,) our stars 
which you counted on the fingers of your hands. 
Was there ever a secret that everyone knew? 
Something like that might help me forgive you.