We create splendid things purely by accident:

The just-crisp waffle still tender on the inside, 

awaiting the slow, golden pour of maple syrup.

The way sunlight glimmers on the doorknob

polished ahead of the visit from your childhood friend

who rushes into your arms for a celebratory embrace.

When the pink and orange neon of the Sleepy Hollow Motel

clicks on just as you approach and the gleaming arrow

feels like you’re driving right into 1956, one more time.

Then waking from a dream rife with confusion,

the wrong people in the right places, leave you 

with the assurance you no longer need to consider them.