looking up from the page

I glance by chance at the indigo sky

smile back at the cradleboat moon

sailing in on the suntides’

first glimmers.


my feet hurry me to

the street, where the magenta lights

are  strung out like dewdrops on a fence

or mardi gras beads clinging to the

trailing skirts of night


an egg balances in the

awning over the Ultra Love door

its fecund form bulging between thin steel fingers.

three twigs, balanced just so,

prevent disaster.


meanwhile the raven on the

overhead wire scans the faces

passing in the cars below

mumbling fortunes and portents

to deaf ears,


but from the distance, one

pink cloud murmurs softly

sleep sound, dear heart

I will catch you, if you fall.