Midnight, Talking About Our Exes

Ada Limón

The sun is still down and maybe even downer.

 Two owls¹, one white and one large-eared,

 dive into a nothingness that is a field, night-beast

 in the swoop-down, (the way we all have to

 make a living). Let's be owls tonight, stay up

 in the branches of ourselves, wide-eyed,

 perched on the edge of euphoric plummet².

 All your excellences³ are making me mouse,

 but I will shush and remain the quiet flyer,

 the one warm beast still coming to you in the dark

 despite all those old, cold, claustrophobic stars.