Annotation for an Eclipse by Kelly Dolejsi

Resurgence~ by Gerald Saidi

Annotation for an Eclipse

How close am I to my one neat death? From one direction
I am grafted to the Sun and only birthday wishes say right
now isn’t thinkable. In this round mirror, dad’s pallid face,
I am there, too, flat and framed. The wildfire orb above,
the last full moon, haunted reddened by Earth’s shadow.
And Earth with no intent to budge. Beyond Earth’s cone

of darkness, though, diffuse golden gegenschein, unconed
countershine, counterglow luminescent rising without direction
from some basic inspiration and passing behind the shadowed
Moon — what a view, my dried my dead papa with bad right
shoulder, with ancient spiritual quest filled with aliens. Above
the horizon a horizontal ribbon of green airglow, its face-

less face partly blocked by blowing orange sand. The face-
less dog eye, bright dog Sirius, blue dot in invisible dog cone,
guards a foaming unpopped loft of abundant beyond above:
our Milky Way, why not compare it to his heart, its direction
a supple chain-smoked halo un-shallow arching left to right.
Fuzzy light patches past calumny, feckless unshadowed

Magellanic Clouds, exhale hot new gas beneath. My shadow
enfolds a fraction moon in florid sheets. My shaded face
across the moon of my father’s, in remote repose I had rights
to see. His reclined un-eternal space, maybe an incense cone
burning for ritual, for the living. I did not. The only direction
always toward more death, all the value balanced above

not dying. In two years I had not held his shaky hand above
beside an ashtray. Puppis, Lepus, Pleiades, purity. The shadow
Earth’s. The dome-y rest reward, color, magnum direction-
less and full. Red emission nebulas too voluminous to face
scattered about. One parent down. No budge. The cone
turned upside-down atop my hot and stupid head, or right-

side up a place to crawl inside, dry, immediate, every right
wronged but pink angelic Rosette and Gum Nebulae above
with fancy un-promises of seeing the dead. My little cone
of body so unstable on its tip. My dad, his dad, his, shadow
the living like astrophotographers, with their swivel faces
surveying creation and un-creation, turned every direction

as right index fingers golden invisible snap what the shadow
lusts to climb above, left hands foreground eternal facing
and turn the cone, zoom in and wish love brace for direction.

©Kelly Dolejsi 2015

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