Galaxy

Dove grey light leaks in through blinds, storms brew.
Gravity pulls; atmospheric pressure holds me low,
fog to summer-warm asphalt.
August rain jingles on the roof like wet fairy bells.

Self-evicted from warm linens, descend cool stairs.
Welcomed by a rumbling fridge
— and its grumpy compressor —
the consequences and monotony of adulthood beckon.

Before Wednesday takes full form, I seek an escape hatch.
Lost in constellations of bubble-bright stars,
I trace the milky way, the bands of exoplanets, and
trance-inducing nebulae swirling in my Cubano roast.

Soon I'll don my leader costume and settle, rigid and rational.
In the waning moments of freedom, jostled by the thrum of a nearby appliance
that could just as well be an interstellar propulsion system,
I glide through the velvet beyond, incrementally absorbing energy.
Breaststroking through crema spheres and creamy belts of luminous java,
I plunge deep, swimming through this glistening galaxy for one.

Having toured the universe, if ever briefly,
I can land bravely, surely;
launch into my day, buoyed by magic
and the wonder harvested from a great expanse.