So many lips
and sips between
words exchanged,
some necks handled
lightly, some gripped
with labels peeled,
and a smattering of tops
like schrapnel,
as the night goes on
and the stories get better
until nothing remains
except this giddy
pile of bottles.
Both feet
firm, rooted,
crown lifted,
palms open,
shoulders down,
breath even,
spine long,
jaw relaxed,
body bright,
open heart,
grow tall,
be still,
reach down
into this
moving earth,
one chance,
face forward
toward life.
nothing so sublime
as a Colorado night
in the summertime.
Like the morning, stream
into everything. Bring with
you, your perfect light.
The moon is getting closer
and fuller, and so is
everything. There is beauty
in the broken sugar bowl,
in the stacks
of dusty books,
dog eared
and leaning. Tree shadows
speckle moonlight
around the lawn
and so we gravitate to
the bright places.
The music is sweet.
Our legs go up
the mountain. This river
runs on and on.
Water softens
the stone.
We are
smaller than
a tiny
dot in
a great
novel, but
that doesn’t
mean that
we still
shouldn’t do
everything we
can to
make this
story more
beautiful
.
discard the untruth
that let you forget you’re made
from the dust of stars.
