Nightlight
As a boy,
I stood outside during
thunderstorms,
counting the
mississippis
between
the flash bulb clouds
luminously enlightening
my starry eyes
and the thunderous
punches knocking
me unconscious.
I’m still awaiting the rain.
In the Sky
I wrote a poem
way up high,
with letters of
smoke exhalations
and words formed
from carbon dioxide.
The clouds then
signed my plain name
way up high
in the sky.
