Late Afternoon Snack with Dinner

It is time to think about the picture of the
book and the white wine.
The stars unfolding
themselves diagonally,
the chatter of the night.
Words fall onto skin, raindrops of maturity.

The older you get, the less likely you
are to crinkle the pink tissue paper on your birthday.
The smell of smoke still lingers in the air.

How does it feel to look at your own painting?
The blues fading, the sky a sunset always,
the earth a poem.
Are you afraid of losing your mind one day,
all the sentences in you becoming jumbled and
bubbling up? Fear not.
What I'm going to do is put out a plate of cheese and grapes,
the bitter bite and the juicy crunch.

Invite your muse to dinner.
Invite the endlessly dripping faucet and the anxious bubble wrap and
the swirls of modern art.
Invite the fork you found under your bed and the sunflower seeds
you never planted
and your favorite eraser top. Invite your screeching radiator.
Our laughter rattles the floorboards, our eyes hazy and glittering.
From the street, our windows glow with yellow light.

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