After a tired while
driving—I find
a kind of pink
and
pleasant ring of light
frosting—just the edges
of the doughy sky
has been tacitly
making the slight-
est of blushing
impositions on my pale narrow mind—
tinging another mute
slow
and dull-with-
cold morning commute
with—albeit disassociated
and abstract
thoughts of celestial
roseycheeked
cherub kids smiling—their wondrous eyefulls grown wide
with that particular
color of clinging
hot sugar—that blazes forth from every
even half-
way
decent
warm bakery on earth.
