Missing Prom From Milan

and Dad, chocolate éclairs, dancing

to the B sides, a 401K, your effort

admires gold, rewards attached

to a pole with hooks of brine.

If I had hands in heaven, I’d set 

up a brake check, lay down

road spikes, swath every landslide 

scar. I’d ask you to hold

a telescope, paint a Rorschach

from the dark spot above your

cheek, the place where you tilted

your forehead toward the moon.