The moon? Like a spotlight through the empty lines of
my bedroom blinds.
An orange dog below and snoring
with a black nose.
Shoes beside him, a flower purse, a brown backpack, and a white bear
with a red bow.
In a mug I picked myself, a cactus, low sand, and pebbles of SanDiego-beside upright and laid down books atop a chest of knobs made to look like a Christmas tree.
TODAY, the calendar says.
TOMORROW, the calendar says.
Where's TONIGHT? I ask.