I.

Over 400,000 pounds of garbage
left on the Moon. Phosphenes
can’t be captured and trapped

inside a snow globe
no matter how tightly she squeezes
her eyes shut when she prays

at dusk. 96 bags
of human waste including vomit
remind her how much

vertigo gets in the way
of traveling to the edge
without a horizon.

And she would have brought
Baggin’s feather back to Earth.

II.

Black cherry lipstick
doesn’t look like
black cherries crushed

on her lips. Left on
a chipped ceramic mug,
it reminds her

of the Red Wing Shoes logo,
which harks back to a wild swan
wing dyed scarlet.

She wishes she could ask
what happened
to the rest of the swan.

And wild eagles do soar
above the Mississippi River bluffs.
And cats and window panes

kill more birds
than wind turbines do.

III.

He has the park
to himself after it rains.
The sun comes out

just before it sets.
It’s not too late to change
his mind. Lies

can be forgiven
if the alphabet is
cracked but not crumbled.

If he sounds it out
slowly with purpose.
If he holds each position

for 30 seconds. If he leaves
a light on
near the rear window. If

he doesn’t fear the dead
silence of 3 a.m.