A news story draped in glitter;
glitter from the mouths that speak
from thousands of glittered boxes.
From the mouths that take time
from the crowds to tell of
the days in an hour.
And to end with the weather.

My parents eating dinner, drinking wine.
Trying to find that time that’s agreeable.
Between the coffee and the calendar lines
crossed out above the fruit bowl.

I shut my eyes at night in ritual
to vacate. Dawn is wise to imposters,
I should sleep for eternity. After all,

the forests are mostly forgiving;
when you’re lost they lead to openings,
subtle, saturated hues.

Openings in the canopies
that camouflage the light with dust.
There is no finer fear than fear of absence;
a life amid explosions, frequent with mistrust.