the night is a sea
and stars are memories of mary, sly, black pearl, and our child; the brightest star in a cloud
the night is an apology:
sly: i’m sorry for becoming a knife and a coward
pearl: i’m sorry for becoming an eye for an ‘i’
mom: hello, it’s me. i bear your father’s name like a birthmark. he was a rock, had bigger feet and longer fingers. i’m told, artists have longer fingers so as to mould anything out of clay, like god.
nights like this, arabic songs scissor the night into shreds of abstract syllables
the wind smells of mirrors. it’s the fragrance of heaven seething through the windows of stars.
the wind is jazz, a duvet – a smoke of high grade weed from god’s lungs.
save for the lull of crickets, a boy and a girl giggling, a loud snore, the neigh of a horse…it’s a calm night; i almost stretch out my arms to swim in the serendipity.
…and tomorrow, your shoes must shine. ’cause your feet are made of star dust.