Nocturnes (v)

Out in the sky, no one sleeps.
–Lorca

The door opened to the boundaries of the hand.
The lines of tigers swam across your palm.

The lover’s collarbone is a galaxy of questions,
A swerve of star-white desire the planes of history

Fly beneath, orienting themselves to darting fish
Shivering in Star River. Out past the sleepless

Boundaries, tigers take new territory.