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Oh you Tiny seven stars Pointing to the bright half moon The horizon did not interest me tonight So I sat in the cold plastic chair, looking up And as my seat grew more numb in the frost, My meditation waxed more acute. Through gutters and branches eclipsing my view The close clouds swam over the sky-- Joining and separating like silhouette puppets. And as their grayness glided over my head I created my own clouds around me. My mind's weight felt lighter as The man-made and natural mingled. Through the webby puffs I saw the galaxy Changing and staying Always old and always new. So this is what they mean, I thought, By three

I thought it most auspicious to leave the first page blank-- I may even stop here, so as not to test my luck. Though they say fortune favors the bold, you know. Perhaps a little writing wouldn't hurt, So many black cats have crossed my path And I am fine today. Though I might tip the scales if I am too self-assured. A smudge, then?  A thumbprint? To diffuse the fates and credit chance with the mark? Or shall I be known either way? For the wrinkles it's causing me now I ought to rip the thing out and use the next sheet! I am one feline's crossing from breaking my neck.

I got off work Braved the dark country road And came home to you I wondered if you'd be sleeping Washing dishes Watching a movie Playing with the cat I parked my car in front of our apartment A street light illuminating our corner The neighbor's house, A sleeping dog, And the spot on my backseat From where we first slept together. The air is always still this late, And ever since it's cooled down A low mist dulls my view of the stars. I open the driver's side and gather my bags Toss the butt of a kretek on the street Step out into the night And shut the car door behind me. In the house I see the dim light, And you approa