Lungs, you say, are the unimagined house

inside the body, the breathing universe

with the breadth of snow and silence

and the Trachea is a lonely brown thrasher

singing the longest love song in history.

We lie in bed, gaze at the phosphorescent

stars stuck to the ceiling and wall,

constellations collide with the dresser,

the cat appears to wear the rings of Saturn.

This duplicate sky is alive and burning

more bright than nature,

more true to imagination.

The heart, I say, is a false sunflower

sprouting from your cupped human hand.

Sharon Venezio received an MA in creative writing from San Francisco State University. She is currently completing a manuscript titled The Silence of Doorways. Some of her work can be found in Reed, Transfer, Parthenon West Review, Midway Journal, Wicked Alice, Stirring, as well as other online and print journals. She can be found at sharonvenezio.com.