It would be folly to consider myself
where I ought to be, as if ‘ought’
could glow in your hand
like half-eaten candy thawing
memories under open clouds.
What hubris man to divine
import from earth-bound particles
bouncing among people walking
heads down, the center of it all.
Heavenly bodies revolve
around some other lantern
the same as me, sticky fingers
sweeter from the journey.