Every Atom

Every atom of your body
is singing to a star
about some incomprehensible
connection
between pain and beauty.
Gods cock their heads,
perplexed and ever
so sweetly troubled
by the music emitted
from your nuclei.
Something about your
gravity and grief
gives them courage.
They long to clothe themselves
in what weighs you down
to this mother of bodies,
the planet pulsing
with gray hair and sweet grass,
empty park benches,
lonely faces of dissolving frost
on maple leaves.
Angels yearn to fathom
this opacity of tears,
and smother their
brilliant souls
in dust.