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.
