ghost in the machine

An Antikythera Mechanism

weeks and weeks
have waxed and waned
since i last
slept beside you

the moon,

a sliver of silver
when i first awoke
to find only a ghostly cotton impression
of your celestial body left behind,

now hangs
high, full, bright
lighting a bedroom
which i walk awake
to the window where
i count stars,
study constellations,
plot the heavens
in hopes that i can navigate
the ocean of miles, months
between us

plumbing the depths of my soul
in search of an Antikythera Mechanism
to chart this venerable course of the heart