Francesca Beasley

The Perimeters of Gravity

How about we save the world
One person at a time?
Late November, the ceiling drips -
I am a pink Eskimo, expecting snow
Weighing the air with my fingers
Like a man on the moon.

Now the curtains are drawn,
The darkness become a low rattle of
Television static. Headlights sweep
Through, faceless feelers for someone
Unaware they are searching my room.