at least once a day, I lie on my back,
to watch the sun in the sky
we are often both
lost behind clouds
at times like those I tolerate the darkening,
then consider how large – how long – is the offending cloud,
the direction and speed of the wind, to estimate the return of the light
the sun always eventually returns,
except one time there was this cloud
that came and was going according to plan
and once it had went, had taken with it the sun
as if in passing it had dabbed its backside with our star,
made it stick, and continued with it hidden in tow,
such a fluffy magician
but of course this was just an illusion,
a result perhaps of sleep interceding,
some lapse of time that moved the sun
from here to there, the loss of my mind
for a moment, maybe a different cloud
or a different sky
and I thought would a cloud like this
have a silver lining, as I’ve heard it said
all clouds do
I pondered this for what seemed to be ages,
finally deciding
when our sun, our local star,
is down to its final moments of burn, spitting
hydrogen, helium, oxygen, and neon, after billions
of years, in that last eight minutes of light, before
the collapse – the eternal shift – of the Milky Way…
I would beckon this cloud to reappear to release
the beautiful sun stolen that day
Chagall 2020
Alphabet City 