Heat, Eyes

 The Dipper

Orion’s Belt, 

My frail self says, oh

No one will believe me in

My clarity, but 

You have to believe me, 

The sky with its incomprehensible points

Infinite sketches of

Ancient knowledge, 

Their assessments & guides 

And the frogs, they’re quiet. 

It’s hot. 

Dew point to be wrestled

With and all the rest 

But no matter, 

I tell you there is constancy

Wonder

And the comforting homeostasis 

Of the momentary right 

I don’t think that I can know

Only feel. 

All is well? 

Maybe? 

Does a nanosecond count?