What a funny as the evening’s gold light
tatters skin and so many explanations
beneath a boiled sky with exchange
of short and tall, calm and frenzied.
What a laugh as a flood of looted sky blinds,
how forgettable as edges emerge
whistle-sharp with only a whisper of threat,
no words applied, no description.
What a chortle, a snort, a guffaw,
this lip of life we lick under a groaning sky.
Busy with weights and measures, we miss
the few pertinent details, but la-di-dah,
what glee, what stunned hilarity.