LETTER TO BE OPENED OVER THE ATLANTIC

for C.I.

Soon you take the sky road
to northern generosities of daylight
wakened middle of the night
by mauve flares of sunrise

the pilot following stars
on chart lines
assigned
when no one could have heard
the universe shatter into system.

How long will you be invisible?
Telescopes have limits.
With each blink,
the less
there is
of our last meeting
drawn into
the pupil’s
black hole.