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anno_salutis
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he runs his hand
repeatedly down
his face
as if he is petting
something dumb and hungry
like someone else's cat.
sitting on a stoop
and trying to pick out
constellations
he had known by star and story
when he was young.
the city's traffic is listless
it will not soothe him.
so he sighs out loud,
pets his own face.
he wonders aloud
as to what it is that
makes us feel small
in the face of the sky
rather than normal sized
regular, well suited
for the purpose, and the task.
a neighbor walks his dog
past like an animatronic
train conductor
and gives polite nod.
is it guilt?
is the absurdity in the complexity
of the thing?
a brain like a domino trick
when a swift kick
would have opened the door equally well.
his phone buzzes insistently
like an anchor pulling him back
from the stars
from the snow blindness
from the mixed metaphors.
he thinks about a time
when his wants were untroubled.
several instances,
reach him
they are pinpoints of light
though,
that have traveled
a great distance
only recognizable now
as constellations
that define space.
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150112
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