In memory of J G
If we’d sprinted down three flights, approximation
of kindergarteners hand-in-hand, the Bowery,
canopy of planets, stars, nebulae above, unnamable
cluster, we would have been specks in time, yes,
but stochastic, impetuously upending the night.
This is code for what I want to say:
If our great bear hearts had agreed to run, what
a startle of life we might have made.