God asked me, like he asked Job, Can you loosen Orion’s belt?

I got just what I need in Virgo.

Her vertices accommodate my knees

when I hyperextend in her. I broke

a tibia once because my muscles seize

at night, nothing to do to ease the choke

of too-excited nerves except to curve

your toes and let it happen

just as a star

happens when it’s done hiding in the swerve

of dissipating clouds and charges spar.

I like it. At lightning’s eleventh hour,

I be like, Damn, Virgo. Is this your jam?

Making umbra a better choice than bower

inside a thunder sky’s most clever scam?

It’s nothing like a dome. There is no shelter.

I be like, Teach me what it’s like to burn

in all the vapors, how to never swelter

so hot your core turns into iron’s churn

and boil. Show me where you hide your blood.

One time I told someone I saw the Big

Dipper but didn’t. Boötes and cud,

but didn’t. Sagitta was in a twig.