God
God I hope this lasts:
This omen of laughter
For she,
Silhouetted against the neon,
Grinding her shadow
Against the buzz of light-debris,
Does rise and fall
In notes like dust
Dancing beautiful sorrow so true
I could be more
I could be less blue
I could take the joke
Of living on the road
Toward the tittering
Light
And God, you could rise;
A voice in a medium’s throat
Spilling over her tarot,
Her candlelight
And we, on the road,
Giggling at such far off places
With little more
Than a wet sack of unfilled wishes,
We could grin
Ear to ear