we drive until the roads cease to look like an arcade game,
blinking dashing center line no longer confining us to linear trajectories,
we veer right off the screen
to the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of somewhere.

here the air is cold to the point of frigidity, but each new star our eyes adjust to makes it clear that
the universe has not neglected to provide us with warmth.
earth’s stable palms beneath our backs, we find this warmth in tinges beneath cold skin, intertwined fingers manically search for each other in overlong coatsleeves.

our stomachs are reeling -
how odd, how human a feeling,
when we’ve never felt more like stars.

you point out that the freckles across my left cheek are shaped
like Cassiopeia, and trace a zigzag with your thumb.

we are as close to the universe as any planet, color, or god
we are the buzz in the split-second space between fingers
and the click each time they interlock.            

the statistical probability that we - as atoms, as molecules, as individuals - are here together in this spoonful of infinity is virtually nonexistent. in theory each moment defies all odds, but we are the proof.
and we recognize this, and so hold on tighter.
right now this portion of world is ours alone - the field wrapped in trees and backed by dirt road, the smell of frozen grass - only we will ever exist here in this handful of minutes.

we run as if to catch the stars in our hands
(cosmic lightning bugs for the children of the sky)
  Until we must stop to catch our breath instead.
they will not leave us anytime soon.

the bright moon takes light we knew hours ago and turns it back to us, distorted.
rays of daylight are softened, cooled, leaving the ground swathed in a blurry bath of silver that seeps inside of us.

cold lips, limited warmth concentrated to a point but never fading as long as our palpitating hearts continue to beat blood through our veins, and they do
we feel our pulses resonating in the air, feel our chests swell almost to bursting with the intensity of this feeling
and i look at your eyes.

they are mirroring the lights in the sky,
galaxies inside you breathing a sheen of glittering pinpricks beneath lifted eyelashes.

the initial illusion of darkness is now illuminated like a silvery city for wide eyes, your hair too appearing pearly in moonlight.
we are feeling in technicolor.

we’ve brought a picnic - bread from this morning and leftover Brie -
but we do not eat.
we decide without speaking that there need be no breaking of bread
to make this silent night holy.