A Stop Along the Milky Way for Some Tiramisu
To follow the path of combusting stars
to the very world
that receives the starlight
requires a stop along the Milky Way.
I chance this sojourn
not knowing how it will figure
in the overall promise
or composition of the world
replete with errors,
tropes, and falsifications.
During the cold night that has been chosen
for its resplendence,
my words and the combusting stars
wander from their accustomed place.
I taste the sweet lift-me-up
that helps to fashion a fortunate life.
Blessed is that raw slumber
to which a dream is affixed.
Without great cause
to whimper and whine,
I am content now to daydream,
looking out at the unadorned sky,
re-living how a flowerpot fell
from a brownstone’s windowsill
the moment I passed by
on customary city walk from here to there.
The thud was not as great
as when the plastic bottle of Evian
fell in the same fashion, different day,
just missing me.
So I envisioned country wicker.
Find a porch with some curvature
to receive the sun’s benediction.
Expect that rain
will be the only thing falling —
and the only intrusion,
some handsome deer, nibbling.