I Spoke Softly

I lose myself tonight in
the throes of conflicting
metaphor.

I spoke softly to a perfect
gentleman who lives for small
lights after nightfall, told him

Inspiration curls my toes,
that from rocks I find gold
enough to make lemonade,

and that in the time
it takes for planets to approach
each other almost close enough
to touch, the universe will hold
the same sky, that same velcro
tapestry into which God tossed
his silver.

The same can be seen
and held lofty
by anyone.