a mondo of transcendent sorrow

Rounds of bubbled slag-iron

spread as ersatz cookies

under day's pale crescent

and nimbus frowns at play

to soothe the porcine boy

who only watched while

the moony boy became the moony man

standing on that sown strip of grass

between the same curb and sidewalk

observing the cars chrome blur

nonchalant with pot-bellied grin

year after passing year

the lawn sprinkler's syncopation

only worshiped by happy chance

with the rotation of each breath.

To polish in smile that door

with cut prism facets

and beveled oak galore

and prize a routine portal

into shallow self-reflection:

having been all things

being again one more

was barely a hair's ruffle

tickled by a light breeze

that hinted of rain

only later in the day.