6.3.17

I have waited many days

in the emptiness of light,

and I have learned the sun

does nothing more

than fall until it rises. And the sky

is not at all what we perceive it to be.

It only perjures in the face

of night, veiling the miracle of stars

from our eyes

behind continents of clouds, or

on bright autumn days, when the promise

of a better life is formed into a shade

of blue reserved for the exquisite

for the tears of very rich men’s wives.

Written at 11:39 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.