Some say I travel
off-road,
soon stuck sideways
in the tricky
ditch.
Maybe it's my job
to hitch far,
leaving
the Earth. Today,
I'm a violet,
lone guest
in a starched-white,
rich diner,
custom made
for the lucky others.
Champagne flutes.
Tomorrow, I’ll find
the last, yellow,
crimson, Roman café.
There, I’ll pose
for the perfect shot,
eating and living
and moving
solely through
the elusive curvature
of light.
C.A. MacConnell
