errol miller
OUTSIDE OF NEW ENGLAND
Some time ago
we came upon a wishing well
and took Frost's road not taken
self had turned into a weapon
and primrose paths led nowhere
out upon the road at night
a better sky than ours
hovered over Shangri-La
to start our world laughing again
we chose the color blue
hooking up with terrific angels
from the suburbs of Chicago
they gave us warm moist breath
shoulders to lean on
and hand to hold
through summer's solstice
after the seventh eclipse of the sun
our firmament softened into whale-oil
off the Xanadu with no business
in its marketplace we drew away
from personal-tense, we stopped by
the woods on a snowy night
to refuel and recreate
knowing how hard it would be
to make it to New England.
