I was blessed at the gas station today.
A sneeze was my entry to Valhalla,
complete with chocolate peanut butter eggs
and live bait.
Everything I need was within reach
for once. Including lighters and magazines.
Milk, bread, and tissues before the blizzard.

My pea coat held me contained
like a turtle. Afloat in conveniences.
Imagining the fierce flight of Viking ships
as I stood in the oily wind,
I pretended I was a warrior queen,
surveying plunder of Tastycakes and beef jerky.
A blessed journey continues. Achoo.

Shuffling in snow, exploring dissolution
before the sky clears.
There are few questions worth the trouble.

But what are loose connections?
Where do we find solace?
Does what we believe stay the same
even as we change shape?

I think I want to know things.
I haven’t found my favorite poem yet.
I think I’m supposed to keep walking.

There were thirteen sparrows
somewhere besides here
and they were given gears
and serrated switchplates to help them fight.
Someone wrote about them,
mistaking the mechanisms and mania
for free flight.

A poem can fly without seeing;
I’d like to try looking down farther
than my feet but I’m afraid it’s just magma and shale. I’m not ready to be a fossil.
Give me wings and gears.
Who needs to be free?

It takes four or five days
of constant kissing to know if she
will follow you through
dry canyons or flooded gardens
though if you venture to the post office
in a snowstorm, it may take longer
to allow the possibility
neither of you know what you’re doing
and it’s ok.