Midnight, Talking About Our Exes

Ada Limón

The sun is still down and maybe even downer.

Two owls, one white and one large-eared,

dive into a nothingness that is a field, night-beast

in the swoop-down, (the way we all have to

make a living). Let's be owls tonight, stay up

in the branches of ourselves, wide-eyed,

perched on the edge of euphoric plummet.

All your excellences are making me mouse,

but I will shush and remain the quiet flyer,

the one warm beast still coming to you in the dark

despite all those old, cold, claustrophobic stars.