Like flickers of light
in an old Méliès
film,
memories spin between
goofiness and wonder.
Like years ago when your plane was
late
and I and our son waited by the
phone
for numerous updates as a simple
hop from New York became a
logistical feat
and our son was busy watching
a mindless home video show and
discovered the joy of hysterical
laughter
from a clip of someone stuck in a
toilet
until you called from a
departure gate at LaGuardia
and we left late in the night
on a zig-zag course through
post-industrial waste and debris
framed by a low rising moon
that was large and white
with a crystal shine in a clear
dark sky
and we drove straight toward it
like deep space explorers
sailing across the currents of
a celestial sea.
One minor moment
that clings like a precious dream.
