I went out with my lost friend Zigman Zibanski. He had been drinking and soon fell down drunk in a field of cold autumn grass. The night sky had also been drinking and fell upon him. The best I could, I freed my friend's back of stars and asteroids and cosmic dust. Bruised but merry Zigman got up, and grabbed the rocky edge of a laughing comet. They staggered together along a worn path and celebrated their good fortune as if they were old friends. My arms tired and hurting, I picked up what was left of the scattered sky and put all of its broken pieces back into place, certain the world would never know the difference...of what happens to lonely old drunks and those fallen comets.
Poetry Pantry #363
48 minutes ago