Muffin of Sunsets
by Elaine Equi
The sky is melting. Me too.
Who hasn't seen it this way?
Pink between the castlework
of buildings.
Pensive syrup
drizzled over clouds.
It is almost catastrophic how heavenly.
A million poets, at least,
have stood in this very spot,
groceries in hand, wondering:
"Can I witness the Rapture
and still make it home in time for dinner?"
Who hasn't seen it this way?
Pink between the castlework
of buildings.
Pensive syrup
drizzled over clouds.
It is almost catastrophic how heavenly.
A million poets, at least,
have stood in this very spot,
groceries in hand, wondering:
"Can I witness the Rapture
and still make it home in time for dinner?"
No comments:
Post a Comment