"Prepossessed."
I thought at the Tucson airport boarding gate
That the passengers wrote cheers for each next fighter jet,
Touching the borrowed municipal runway
Meant that there's a trace of the state inside any moment,
Wanting to be approached with a balance point of intention
And reception lucid dreamers must have
To thread a shared feeling
Through gelatin in the eye, light's hollows, an alibi.
But now that the sun in the scene
is setting, as in Los Angeles,
Long, thin band of orange between purple strands,
It's more as if only a thought ago,
We'd been not dreaming, but just asleep
And carefree under the vastest of honesties.