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.
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).