Stars flower and breathe brilliant icy clouds
through time, a laugh
haunting the universe with dazzle ghosts
of cool blue fevers dancing in rhythm,
~after the when and the almost~
do we wake up to magic?
Mornings of soft red skies
and a breeze perfuming the air, a kiss of if?
Or do we go into the night un-embraced,
without listening for poetry surrounding us?
The Oracle made me work for this one, a puente, this morning. (She’s ancient so her spelling is a bit whimsical.) But now I can go about my day.