For now I am under a New Jersey Sky
Who among the Argentinians can say this isn't
a beautiful thing?

All things being equal, I am flat on my
back, legs straight, hands folded on my chest
which makes me little more than a
body at morgue

Yet this immortal sky
and the roof that I lay on
Is alive with other skies
and roofs and me and you
and roofs,
time and women
and music
That is… if everything is just so;

The stars are no longer fixed points
but glowing ***** against a backdrop of
soupy liquid
an unexplained transient black

When things go beyond description they become hallowed
One can see this in
                           Sleep, or the works of
     Geoffrey Chaucer,
                                          A Jersey Sky, or
You