DECEMBER 11

Order you holiday pie here,
lighted optimistic gas station
left a time before, current
as smong0smeared light stretched
rod-like past comfort spherical
to us, passing cramped and heat-bringing
trembling,

blinking on and off, panorama entire
contingent on hillèd wants,
vaulting vision anyways with glee
ending it, wavering garage light
out,

forgotten, lit for hours following
its spirited flight from memory,
airily extant, dragged groundward,
flickering cleanly as with motion
bound,
ceded to a green, cleansed
archipelago of certain brilliance,
set tight in smog, ignorant of origin,
prelapsarian and passed, of course. Of course.