But what you meant by distance was globe,
was be mine, hushbug,
and we’ll sleep the sleep of sky-
scrapers, grand blueprints
of built greatness—unrocked, unexploded,
half full of heaven and earth—
Expats to this homeflat, no longer
humbled to the bottommost bottom
O America we never wanted
your size but here
it is and we can’t contain ourselves:
modest travelers in a mammoth world.
What else to do but grow
into each other?
Let’s drink to that.
Take a swig, darling and turn
out the light.
Sometimes we have to beg
each other to be beautiful—drumming
and moonburnt.
Sometimes we just are.
Your knees are the end of a planet
I’ve shooked and shooked.
Roundest 360-degree-love I turn just to turn /you.


Kimberly Grey

Kimberly Grey is a poet and photographer living in New York. Her poems have appeared or will appear in The Southern Review, Columbia: A Journal of Arts and Literature, TriQuarterly and Best New Poets 2011, among other journals. Her first book manuscript has been a finalist for many awards, including The Cleveland State University First Book Prize and The Lexi Rudnitsky First Book Prize. More poems and photographs can be found on her website, www.kimberlymgrey.com.