I liked it best when we drove

to that cabin leaning straight-

away to the south because

grandpa tan would sit on the

half rotted deck spit            at

mice that combed the wood

as they sniffed out stale cake

crumbs that fell from his

pockets        we would watch

luna moths spread their wings

and land softly on his scalp

as the moon rose he would

hold me on his lap and we

would stare through his coke-

bottle glasses lift our hands

point        to Eris and Ceres

Vesta and Neptune    to honor

the gods      and Sarah Vaughn

would sing summertime on

repeat in the kitchen her syrup

voice skipping        and shivers

pulsing up our    backs sliding

along            her wide tongue

and into each    splinter in the

pine walls        the space between

our eyes   and every open door