It’s Christmas night and the stars on the ground outnumber the infinite
sky. Seattle stretches clumsily toward the foothills like a young lover,
unsure where to rest her hand. Streetlights shoot tendril trails,
take root in evergreen lungs, and as mountains grow alveoli fade
until only the resting Cascade black remains. I am wishing
I was asleep. I am wishing the drugs would kick in so my somnambular
musings could trip-fall into dreams. I am wishing my questions
had answers as simple as equations.