DON
KINGFISHER CAMPBELL
Cosmic
When I look at the ceiling
I see thousands of plaster
points casting small shadows
Like the surface of the moon
observed by glancing upward
from this earthly brown sofa
When I open the front door
I gaze upon dozens of white
clouds travelling across blue sky
Like pedestrians on a sidewalk
trying to cross a wide street
whose boundaries are out of sight
When I go back inside I stare
at my hand and behold skin
and spots and lines and hairs
Like the exterior of a planet
I have known for half a century
shifting slowly again to granule
When I swing out the same portal
at night my eyes ascend once more
into a darkness without many stars
And realize the lights we've
invented
pale next to the faint specks made
distant by design and simply ask why
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