But then I saw a nighthawk in the day
and learned to doubt people in power:
Don't trust those with feathered smiles
and the economic mobility of flight.
But then I learned and kept learning
until the kernels in my brain popped.
But there were too many kernels,
and too little space and no concessionaire
to scoop and feed the hungry children.
Or maybe there were no children to watch
the corn-popping fire of moving image.
Or maybe they just weren’t hungry at all.
So I walked around with a big head,
I told you to touch it, touch me
but you wouldn’t, but then you did,
and I popped into a million pieces.
The pressure launched me into kernel-shaped
stars, where I saw all the nighthawks.
But then they flew higher, and so did I
and the rivers turned into veins, and yours
into archives and stilled pictures.
The nighthawks were in space, I was in space
And it’s always night in space.
