how I might take the relative-
-ly godlike fire of the sun without effort,
& here,
hidernating in our hovel,
almost behind today’s
vague infinity shadow
or momentarily
-depending on the hour-
wedged in the
spackled/refracted/ephemeral
corners plainly inside this house,
at the window of western january
four-thirty pm
own. it. as. our. own
Son lying, under the comfort with you,
but looking concerned at
the mickey mouse* wristwatch with
that gold brow quiz of his, intoning:
‘huh?’
to the discrepancy in numbers.
*I guess actually a racecar?
