Bolide Fireballs

Aurora you wake my sleeping moments
stroke sunrays like bright fingers
through my hair and down my cheeks
pausing briefly to flick my ear lobes
allowing morning songs to fill my
senses and absorb May Day’s dawn chorus
imagining house sparrows, robins and wrens
strutting their feathers sending overtures
worldwide, messaging those still deep
in slumber or aroused on twisted tiptoes
dancing along branchers, sliding across
across linoleum floors in cotton tube socks
reinventing the essence of Risky Business
embracing me between wispy arms
that curl like amorous clouds around twilight,
falling stars pleasantly repressive, aptly
reassuring for a man who spent half his life
wearing a pragmatic romantic’s mantle.