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.