The way the sky makes crayons in the evening.
The way stars simply don’t mind a thing.
It’s the way the frost was Dylan just two weeks ago.
And Saturn spins at the burger joint in town.
I’ve heard cars fly in rain here.
You hear things. Ya wonder.
You repaint the bedroom like a Vegas Versailles.
You dream big. Then smaller…until that fire opal
And your sky becomes paper plate and rock candy
hanging from strings.