Jupiter
there are all these little
souls still awake.
and i watch them sprout
little roots in the night
like tulip bulbs.
are you worth
all the money in holland?
when my mother cuts
flowers from the yard
they litter the dining
room table with smudges
of bruised color.
even this is a blessing.
we are not jupiter.
we are happy in our
atmosphere.
we swelter in the heavy luck
of living with novels
and movies and prepackaged
seaweed and freezer pops.
we are not a storm.
we lay down on wet grass
in our luminous backyards.
we wait for the great red spot
to settle in dust.
