And over their 3-year-old, they unwrap a chocolate bar,
an unexpected delight, the awareness of purpose.
The star, the same twinkly pool under today’s ice-blue
satin amazingness. And it’s pure genius, the season’s
dark rum woods, the gentler nighttime healers of
buffalo. Gold elixir, powerful magic, pining for space.

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You might recall that my project for this month involves piecing together a poem each day from words and phrases in the December issue of a magazine. The month’s almost over, so I’ll go ahead and tell you it’s Good Housekeeping (I was playing it close to the vest — not sure why).