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!
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.