A discombobulated collective of ragtags with
a mission were we the night of Mother Nature’s
splendid fireworks. We collided with time and space
in the freezing cold ocean air; half a plan
and a little determination was all it took for us
to feel like we were finally living again
and we gave thanks to each other
and to the universe
for granting us this show of joy, affection and laughter.
We forgot what it was that we were supposed
to be worrying about and focused instead on the ripe
fireballs and streaks of twins and triplets
that flashed too quickly before our very eyes,
our eyes which felt like it was the first time
they were open in far, far too long.
We sang Elton John and Chaka Kahn in an effort
to forget that our noses and hands
had fallen off
in the cold.
One of us received a profession of love
via the technological wonders of voicemail and even
though it was the wrong person leaving the message,
some of us glowed with his love anyways.
There were times when even I was speechless,
only able to feel like I was five again, looking at stars
with my Uncle Charlie, and that these people,
some strangers, some not, were my family for that night.
Her finale was the beginning of a sunrise while
the last of our split-second friends burned up
in a purply blue sky. The roar and the lull
of the ocean slowly made us sleepy, and
on the train ride home, we dreamt
the dreams of children
while the brilliance of a new day warmed
our bundled bodies in sleep.