those errant,
ungovernable parts of you—
that uniformless
gray
which sometimes
smears the blue
sky of your body,
those bottle caps
and six-pack rings
and rusty left boots
in your oceans
in your brain—
would submit
to your rule
and keep themselves contained?
Is the Earth
the raison d'être
of the moon?
of the moon?
Does the sun
ever seem to be
ashamed
of the rain?