One of those north face nights
cloudless, dreamless
thousands of feet up and clinging
Wedged
between cold and moonlit— still

Red digits cannot contain
the 3:15 that they proclaim

Breathing sideways
to get enough!

The air is paper thin

Idle snow—
loitering….

Young girls laugh
and cut the stems with fingernails
or small blunt scissors and set them in a vase
they gleam
rough cut flowers
husks by next month
after the water has dried
their stems touching crystal.

Weighty as feathers
desiccated while in bloom
these fossils
touched the moon
only a shadow
of their former selves
brides of the clouds
like statice, lavender, eucalyptus,
pearly everlasting
is nothing but lashes
claws of petal
they don’t care if they are hollow
if their throats are silent
wear iron smiles
ghost bloom
the very bitterness in them
is just a bough of hours
suitably decorating
the table.

a crust of bread resting in the rustic coma of the breakfast nook.
butter on a plate... chastening the sun with it's mule yellow-
and gravy on your toast because
breakfast.

the window beside -
framing elsewhere, condensing the whole milk
into a colorful speck.
as you wander off into the morning
before coffee... with a mouthful
of toast.

and a host of jewelry... made of sleepy.

Tomorrow is on my calendar
as is every day next week.
I have interviews, appointments,
Dinners at which I'll speak.

I'll make some time for family
and writing, I suppose.
I must buy steaks to barbecue
and must purchase new  work clothes.

When evening comes I'll settle back
with a glass of Pinot noir.
I'm a transient immortal,
I'm on loan here from a star.

The future is a game
against ourselves we play.
We plan as if we still have left
forever and a day.

In truth we all are transients
For just this moment free.
Self observing stardust
poised twixt two eternities