to reach for the stars
my pants would fall down.
Today requires earthly attentions.
Keeping up trousers may be
the ultimate action
while loftier desires
could knock me, particle by particle,
straight out of orbit.
Cupping a star in two small, mortal hands
until palms can remain steady
holding an infinitude of concentrated light.
Here, fantasy. Here, reality.
With that slice we both
the fullness of flourishing space.