It topples; end over end.
It has ever since that asteroid banged into it,
sending it tumbling.
It's thoughts, like its formerly outside layer of rock, are scattered.
It's not sure if it wants to continue spinning or not. At the same time, it recognizes it's powerlessness before the hand of physics.
It does not know when another asteroid will make contact.
It wants to crash into a planetary body, so as to be apart of something bigger.
It wants gravity to pull it in, slowly caressing it home. It doesn't know where that will be, but it remembers, a long time ago, being much larger. And faintly, it remembers, even longer ago, of being very much smaller.
It can almost remember when it, along with everything else in the universe, was one. It can almost remember the warmth of the force that dispersed it and it's sisters everywhere they could possibly be. Forever.
Eternity is the only concept it can truly understand.

It's beginning to understand that it doesn't so much like this idea of Forever,
but these thoughts will take millennia upon millennia to form,
and many times that long to be understood.

An other asteroid passes within two miles of it and it almost gets excited.
Maybe tomorrow, it thinks, maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow.

There's a group of young people
laying on the rocks
a doobie passing between them,
two beers for each.

They're listening to the sound of the river,
they're laughing and they look into each others eyes
and they are good, they are soft and warm and a little toasted,
thank the sun, thank the earth, thank the friends.

I'm among them,
with my pen in my hand and my notebook on my lap.
Terra, she calls out for a beer, I reach into my bag and toss her one.
Kelly, she calls out for a cigarette, I reach into my bag and toss her one,
Dylan, he calls out for a guitar pick, I reach into my pocket and toss him one.
Chloe, she calls out so as to not be alone, I reach into my pocket and toss her love,
I toss love to them all, they always catch it, and toss their own back, I never drop it.

It's February but it's hot.
It snowed last week (ah! What a beautiful day) and today there's a high of 75.

The air is cooler by the water,
we climb up the canyon to watch the sunset.
A cool end to a cool day.

We all pile into my truck.
Kelly, to her ranch.
Terra, to her trailer.
Dylan, to his barn.
Chloe, to her town house.
Me, to my church.

Many laughs, many hugs, many eyes met, many glances kept, much love tossed, a couple doobies smoked, a twelve pack drunk, and a day lazed in the sun.
A handful of friendship, an ocean of love.

It isn't always soft
it isn't always pastel
and it's rarely warm.

it's beautiful, don't get me wrong.
it's sometimes cold
it's sometimes gray and irritating,
but it's always recognizable.

sometimes it sounds like a congested nose,
sometimes it sounds like a hardwood floor,
sometimes it sounds like an old refrigerator.

you'll look at it and think
'that would look great with a bow on it'
but you never put a bow on it.

you'll look at it and think
'I bet that smells like home'
and it does.

you'll touch it
it will feel like sandpaper and velvet bralettes at the same.
you know that's The Way It Should Be.


you're right you know,
it is terribly hypocritical.
Your mother says "it's in Your Best Interest."

you wonder what that is.