Comet dust slices the sky. I wake you to see what it's writing. The trees have stripped off their brightness though handfuls of leaves transparent with age glow in the shadows. You pull your coat close to your body. The leaves you stand in turn into leather the color of wine. Beside the moon, a cloud like a mushroom bursts its integument, scattering flames. On the first line of light, I wish for another, then wish for old songs like flickering candles all down the riverways. On the third, I greedily beg for health for our bodies, for our petitioning hearts. Back in bed, I pull a quilt over us and fold myself next to you. All night I repeat a bright alphabet, each letter hung with spangles of light.