I live in a bubble
where prom queens have pull
and men worship three pointers
wrong number conversations
last for an hour
the mayor mows his own lawn
and people remember
generations past
each time
my youngest son smiles

my home floats
above and beyond
any embellished horizon
cyclical and circular
a perfect lustrous sphere
of continuous beginnings
perpetual endings
untouchable moments
that I can hold
in the palm of my hand