Scott Waters lives in Oakland, California with his wife and son.  He graduated with a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University.  Scott has published previously in Impspired, Third Wednesday, Main Street Rag, Better Than Starbucks, Dreich, The Sandy River Review, and many other journals.  Scott’s first chapbook, Arks, was published by Selcouth Station, and his poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize.

Starwalker

The starwalker picked up 
a dark marble

casually gave it a spin
without breaking stride

waded on through black waves
of gas, dust, ice

while the marble kept spinning

and began to glow

a blue-and-green striped lighthouse
beckoning the starwalker to return

but he never did.

Mobius

Your thoughts are not your thoughts
they are the crackling lightning
of an infinite brain
strung with synaptic wormholes

hallways clogged with servants
shuttling their 
impersonal ministrations
from galaxy to galaxy

the note arriving in the eastern wing
of the western lobe
of the great green pulsing nebula
where you make your home

notifying you 
that you are alive
and sleeping deeply

dreaming the universe
that will never stop dreaming you.

Leap

The only difference 
between you and me
(aside from 
it’s only I who pause 
to consider
whether it’s “you and me”
or “you and I”)

is that having a birthday
on a leap day
is just another factoid
from your life 
right up there
with being left-handed
and partial to rhubarb

while I 

have been deeply troubled
since learning about
your once-every-four-years
birthday—

When do you celebrate
during the off-years?

If your true birthday 
is every four years,
does this mean you’re 11 
instead of 44?

Come late February,
do you dream 
you’re floating
somewhere between 
Mercury and Venus
reaching with your puffy
spacesuit arm
for a sparkling 
crinkly-wrapped
gift box 
that always drifts 
just beyond
your twitchy
gloves?

Or do you
celebrate your unbirthday
three years out of four
by tormenting
people like me
with unanswered questions

and having another slice
of rhubarb 

pi?