Heart With No Permanent Address Poem by Bernard Henrie

The sun has slipped the ecliptic
igniting yellow banners across
our roofs and flooding the windows
with daylight.

The car is hot by 9 o’clock.
I return my son to his mother.
He sticks his nose out the window
like a dog.

The tugging book bag;
ragged sweet roll.
Jacket tied at his waist
like a drowning man.

Last night we did backyard astronomy,
our Schmidt-Cassegrains pointed
at faint Spica shy as a heavy girl.

Cocoa on his upper lip reminding me
of his mother.

Love’s melancholy nomenclature
illuminated like a sailor’s tattoo.