Midnight, After Work
Beneath the green and orange half-
moons of dash lights reflected,
the black wires arc and the stars map
their exquisite network.
You are quiet in the back,
not yet knowing words nor existence even;
a strange fictional being, sharpening
your expectations
on my determination.
My dream comet circles above town,
bits of us frozen in space as
travelling chunks of ice. Pieces fall
and melt and disappear,
like people you will know.
Energy crosses the fields
with telephone -
company numbers
nailed to its stiff supports
or imaginary numbers children
tacked to them, tired of waiting
for their comets
to crash on the backseat,
where you sit patiently amidst
splinters of glass and icicles.
Imagine knowing you are big.
Your wish can cause a catastrophe
as far away as the stars, or as small and
complex as a spider's web.
But stars and
cobwebs become elusive.
My hopes may thread across
your vision,
so insignificant
to you, and yet if I have taught
you well you will
fly fantastical until you melt or crash.
Elizabeth Marzloff