Laughter, when it isn’t yours.
Success, when it isn’t either.
Sunlight, when it’s off the moon.
Sunlight, when looking right at him.
Blue skies beyond clouds or imprisoned in prisms,
whole curved highways of color backed up like traffic,
just waiting for the light to change.
For reddish orange to grow green, release us
under flashing caution, let us go yellow and old.
Turn taupe skin tan and khaki brown and chocolate
blue like night is black against the backs of stars,
which is what we call suns when they are not ours,
and what we call people when they are.