For me, the grim realities of flight did not negate The Little Prince— / instead, I became more certain / that everything Saint-Exupéry said was true: / that same sincere voice, that never-lost child’s wonder / at being alive.
Our loft starship, tear-shaped pod of night, / Glows inward with familial joy, / A hearth of laughter, warm, bright— / Hearts leap across deep space…
For all my guile, there have been times when my own wit / has thrown me into far worse danger. / Polyphemus laughs, despite his blindness, / to think what ill I wrought upon myself.
“Look, Aunt Adele” —/ Then opens her own pocket universe / as she carefully parts puckered thumbs / to push another one inside. / “It’s a secret,” she says, laughing, / tinkling sweet as the Little Prince, / while all our hearts sing the bottom notes.