I can whitewash late night skies
Until they become blank pages
******' fling my name on firmament
Until God hands out C-plusses
With degree in hand, descend
           to Earth
But don't forget the lessons learned
These Bighorn nights all seem like dreams
until those dreams just don't match up.

No city streets tonight--
      though that might be my locale
The lake's at rest, but speaks with pines
          about tomorrow's yesterdays
And something deep inside of me
     knows names are nothing special
when a fellow writes on The Firmament.