last bus home

there is a collection of beautiful things

on the street at three in the morning.

i know this because i am one of them;

tomorrow, i will be human again,

but tonight, i am divine. tonight,

i am the beer bottle rattling, unbroken,

sea-glass against the cobblestone.

i have been seen and been consumed,

which, at three in the morning

(in a collection of beautiful things on the street)

is the human experience. to live, divine—

or something like that.

so, meet me in the neon lights.

where am i? look into them as if the sun,

and find apollo. there i'll be.

April 2022