One of the four Royal Stars is watching over me.  Yeah, I’m blessed in these times of nervous weather.  The leaves chill in a bundle then scatter like police, off to the next doorstep.  They don’t step, they don’t faze me.  These jeans could hold three men.  But it’s just one of me, girl.  Only Son.  Only Sound.  Only Seer.  All this green to gold to red to orange is just theater.   I’m the Real.  Keep your eyes on the Navigator of Snow and Infinite Gray.  I rock these boots all year.  What a storm got to do with me? Who knows the number of strolls to heaven?  Not that I’m thinking on it.  The Heavens know my real name.  But you can call me Q.   Quicker than Q.  But, anyway.   Certain things a man keeps to himself.  Jesus wept.  So I don’t. The past is for people who like to play things over and over.  Me, I’m on to the next song. Listen to my own Head Symphony, to the Royal Stars.  The colors, they thrill me, they fuel these legs.