The Eye Like a Strange Balloon Mounts Toward Heaven (a title in Mary Jo Bang's "The Eye Like a Strange Balloon")

She has a plan.
Late, while he's asleep,
while roommate two is
watching movies,
she'll walk off Manhattan
and step into the space
between her wrist
and the nine tendons
that flow through it.
There is a cradle,
a candle, scented,
it smells like hyacinth
and mint. Love
can learn so much
from anatomy. We
find him studying
while she cradles him
in her arms like a wick.
From a median nerve,
from inherent, electrical impulse.
Each revolving star
we have mapped just
like our own bodies.
It's loving you that makes
this work.