Earthly bodies ravage moon
cakes and warm their bellies
with salted suns — evidence
that the universe is eating
itself.
Outside, the trees strip raw.
Children bruised with sidewalk
clamor for pieces of red-orange
luck. Sticky hands close
around stickier air.
And then there are the stars,
the aunts and their -ologies
to explain away my future.
What an auspicious match
you’ll make! I tongue the carcass
of a persimmon, yearning
for youth left behind in
hot summer haze.