I am writing to pronounce how bummed & perturbed I am regarding the time change, being as it’ll be daylight when I go for my morning jog. This spoils part of the magic of being out so early: I’m usually running before 6 a.m., & the stars & moon are still plainly visible at that time. I mean, for those of us who work during the week, the extra hour is quite glorious on a weekend. The upshot is may I set out an hour earlier until we spring ahead again.
I think of this poem as splattered on the page, like a constellation. There is that brightest star, it represents your smile. A portal of scintillating light. Last night I had a dream that you were dressed in black playing a George Frideric Handel keyboard suite (No. 11 in D Minor) on the piano. I want to take you to coffee with your black-rimmed glasses on. They make your eyes look like the opposite of ivory rose. I want to see you laugh at a joke. I bought dark chocolate-covered espresso beans that came in an adorable tin. They remind me of you. Iridescent as a raven’s coat. You eyes are dense as marble, thick like the darkness when someone shuts off the lights in a room. Something about you exudes minor key tonality, a stirring inky onyx like the night sky. Impenetrable as the mystery of life.