Sunshine answers prayer
with astronomy, the science

of light-years pouring time
backward through

my bedroom curtains, a way
of gazing over my shoulder,

a way of feeling again—
his fingers eager

in their reach for meaning,
his lips tasting my stars.

We drank coffee in bed,
our favorite weekend ritual,

his hands bringing our cups.
We were settled then, routine

the clink of our spoons
stirring the cream, my ease

watching him out the window,
the gorgeous way his bicep

popped as he filled
feeders, the way he stood

awaiting the music
as song sparrows flew in.

Time gives us light
in place of dying celestial

bodies, what our eyes
see in the night sky,

a frail imprint of the shape
someone used to be.

He used to be my ritual,
my coffee with cream,

his tongue licking the rim
of a mug.

Now in the whole universe
no telescope can find his face.