the sun streamed in like a white blanket of light
and you said — “how do we possibly do all the stuff we do
when we end up feeling so worn and torn?”

and the particles of dust floated in the air
like slow-moving meteors and tiny feathers suspended
but still moving
and I watched your breath propel them as you said
“it feels like the summer is over even though it’s just beginning.”

and we pondered how many dinosaur wings we’ve flown upon
not like magical dragons — but like the muck of oil that
they’ve turned into
and about how selfish we are — always wanting more.

none of it added up to much
no conclusion
no — ah-ha — no grand truth.
just the sun streaming in and then a simple question,
“what do you want to do now?”