The Blue Nap

I slept "like a stone," or like that vast

stone-shaped building, the planetarium.

No dreams I can remember:

the dark unbroken blue

on which the stars will take

their places, like bright sheep

grazing the sparse sky.

The night I share with others is cloudy

as if it were groggy from snowing.

On the plains, the lights of Longmont

waver. I begin to re-invent

my life, turning on lights,

grinding some coffee beans -- French roast,

dark enough to shine. The kettle sends up

its flume of steam. The material world is always

swirling away. Six hours ago I lay down

so tired I slept through

an evening I'd have given to basketball

and friends. A snow as dry

as confectioners' sugar has stopped.

I take my dog for a walk

over the sifting fields. To him

it's not midnight. It's dark and snow

smells like the air it's fallen through.