My Mountain Goat Guru
Our cosmic rumble conjures you. You before me. An electric, protein-rich smoothie rocketed on high on our BlendTec. You raise your voice –– you raise your voice above it, tell me to check the toaster setting. Sound waves glaze atop room tone. Godly. Not even Bill Nye could demystify our movie collection. Our antennas spark –– spark eons away from the back door. You fling me to Saturn’s rings ‘round mountain goats and atomic chunk babies (the planet’s rings are bibs with glops of puree). You entertain –– you entertain neither. By the time I return, light years later, I have found you. Young again. Your smile bent so far, they align with my pupil’s rings. You have found the milky haze of our pantry. You bite into pre-packaged granola. We find the couch.