As eyes adjust to morning, fragments gather
into sheets again. This can’t possibly end well,
you know, given inescapable constellations.
Blame curved—erased lines between those stars,
whose fires may emanate from ancient cinders.
It beats hating her in advance. Or cursing twitches
of your own, some potencies of which combined
to draw her interest your direction from the start.
Balance knowledge of the future with time travel
to un-butterfly-wing the past. Breathe and smear
a mirror fog as proof of life. Consider the chance
that you won’t die tomorrow either.
Following 31 years as a musician in the U. S. Army, Gordon Kippola earned an MFA in creative writing at the University of Tampa. After more than a dozen military moves, within and outside the U.S., he now makes his home in Grapevine, Texas.
© 2017, Gordon Kippola
Halfway Down the Stairs 