I tried to raze the ceilings for creating
the appalling gap between me and the cosmos,
but fell asleep in its rainstorms. I wake up
and am forced to interpret and reinterpret
the trees and door knobs and bags of chips
and think its ludicrous to have to think
so much about the world’s forms.

Later today, I’ll pick up the sun,
but then I don’t know what to do with him,
and I’m relieved when I drop him off;
then I miss him, and call my mother
to interpolate a childhood
of aloe into a nightcap.

-C.S. Henderson