And the calliope crashed to the ground.
Asking the morning sounds for a hint of what’s to come.
A meteor shower blocked out by the clouds.
Did you see the burning flame balls, the cosmic bursting rocks while you slept? Are you good enough to dream behind the clouds?
The morning coffee and a small fire in terra cotta pot displays my Plato cave image on a suburban stucco wall. Light directed through me, over me, around me and onto a movie screen.
That’s not me, but it certainly is him.
Another runner in the night.