it's the bright beams, crossbeams from nowhere
that are taking the edge
off the stars
like a thunderstorm this clears the air
it gives me hope something else is going on somewhere
outside the office walls and cubicles
far from the schoolroom's yards
some seasons I see it nightly
as though a new shopping center had opened in the galaxy
and was trying to draw in the crowds with colorful plastic
penants flapping in the breeze: spelling, Grand Opening
I wonder what they sell there I whisper to the evening.
if they sell a trinket Ticket Out or orangeade
just for a dime, or the Span of Time or a snow fresh vow
could they drop it from a cloud, a nebulae, to me?
mary angela douglas 6 january 2022;29 january 2022'24 march 2023
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