Things Are Thought of

​Things are thought of, then they’re done.
“Please bring my suitcases upstairs.”
All the way up, to the roof, to the ozone
Layer, up to the celestial bears,

Take up my portmanteau, take up my satchel
And my messenger bag, it sure is light
Up here, and I see you have a big
Salon, and every neophyte,

Every star born in gas,
Finds electrons spinning, finds
That even shreds of light loop 
In the corona, and our minds

Leap and sizzle light. “You can
Carry all of my things in that overnight
Bag.” After all, we do
The best we can, isn’t that right?