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All the Time

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I like to stand outside
in the winter night,
a glass of gin in my hand,
and watch the sky

go by above me,
half moon a white lemon
with its companion star,
the star two stars,

then one if I concentrate
while the clouds veil
and unveil it all, and my
focus shifts between them

and the sumac branch,
furry and bare, and the sky,
never the same from
one second to the next.

So I hope to die, staring
up at the moon one night,
suddenly dropped into the
nothing they inhabit all the time.

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