Les 
What’s real?
Your skin knows as it stands against the cool air of a midnite sky.
The indigo vastness of something so big it cannot truly even be understood.
It’s like love but even harder to explain.
Maybe the harder we try to know, the more we squint to try to understand, the more we chase it all away.
The stars mindlessly screw through the night as if driven by gears.
Is it God who turns the crank? Is it a Monkey with a red hat?
Pop goes the weasel but what then?
The journey is not ahead of you.
Everyone discovers that at the end.
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