Random Thoughts

Thinking of Carrie and Working

I'm back in the café where it started,
Where the words lived
Like children in the hip pocket of a parent.
If I bring them out, today,
Early afternoon,
To stare up at the coffee bar's can lights
Until the stars dance and space ships glimmer
In old-fashioned modernity above them,
Will they breathe?
I dream face down, over them,
Words entranced by light or sleepy
With ink still drying along their curves.
Some of them, years ago, were born here
Although none have ever
Driven those ships we are dreaming of
Into the thick white density of a page.
Perhaps these are dazzled, satisfied by existence,
By the mobile possibilities of line and light.
I am scared, suddenly, for them. Of them.
There is little of belief left for them
Of that safe landing on the printed planet,
Our fuel burns lower, bluer.