Come Close Again III

Dust.

A soft landing…

Who would have thunk

this white sand

might be a catchment

for a dream beyond

the boundaries.

Why do we live happily

within silly confines?

I do not know.

But look, look!

It is so!

Postscript: I recognize every Shakespearean scholar will piss on this post, my daring to say look, look, so offensive to their domain. But really: Look. Look!

It’s time to write a poem

The sun is setting.

Or I guess, we are spinning,

literally, like the back hand springs

the girls would practice

on the playground

at East Farms School,

from Maine to New Mexico

they cut a path

on the map Mr. Keller

painted the summer

of the bicentennial,

these fifty united states

in horrible yellow paint

on the blacktop.

This round about trip

through the universe,

even from this desk,

looking out over

my right shoulder is so…

…so damn beautiful.