I live in the little-sky country,
where buildings shadow the setting moon,
and Orion spends his nightly frolics
skipping behind trees, bushes,
and the house next door.
We see him only dimly
through second-hand mall-lights
reflecting off organic clouds
excreted by the makers of wonder drugs
to cure the cancers
that fill this land.
Yet on a winter morn,
fetching the daily news
from snow drifts,
a glimpse of Vega or Mercury
brings scintillating tears
of nostalgic love
above my desiccated nostrils
and pluming breath.
-- Sam Friedman
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