Twenty decays to ten

when heavy roadmaps
overspill our shoulders

I hope the snow
is as maddening there--where
you will light cold roofs
for stranger skies,
where
the sun swells as all suns do
as large
as the moon

moths balls might smell
like supernovas
but don’t worry about them
or cedar
or cancer
I am not so attracted

I will not stop the universe
from expanding