They said of the instant: “You’re brilliant.”

But who wants to swallow the Sun?

I’d rather, like Li Po, embrace the final shimmer

of the moon in the river

than fuel a moment’s  incandescence

with a self-immolating quiver.

“But you shed so much light!”

Yet comes the night.

And I’d deign to be a cat

upon my mistress’ lap

shedding my downy fur

under her tender
fluffing caress—

Light-shedders are not apt
to know such tenderness.

“Block-buster kick-ass!”
What?  Another kiss of death?

If I had a choice of oxygen

fed to me forever through a tube or…

I’d take one sweet last breath.