poem #64

365 Buddhas

Don’t feel bad, Valdez,
the new galaxy
probably isn’t any better
than the one we have right here.
The grass is always redder
on the other side of the cosmos,
the sky is always a more exotic orange.
The constellations there are just groups of stars
that someone else has named.
To be honest, though,
I would love to see it, too,
and I imagine us on the rocket ship,
strangers in different seats,
tourists with new sneakers and Polaroid cameras,
scrutinizing our itineraries. We’ll see places
with names like the Magenta Falls, the Silver Geyser,
the Glass Forest, and we’ll take so many pictures
that I’ll even accidently capture the back of your head
in a pic of the silver water stretching into the orange sky
as the tour guide’s explanation is lost in the iridescent sparkle.
I’ll bump into you in the Glass Forest, breaking a…

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