Groan

And now you’ve made your bones (from seas to stars), locking step with comet’s fall (as rings and moons) and tidal crawl. As night stays drape (black and full) of rotten cold. Sealed in lids, sealed in boxes beneath hinging groan, behind a thousand suns. Burst with not but knots and twist, a maze of those wrapped upon the other still, falling from your window sill.