delicate blue earth,

when i touch the melt.

air gasp, a tongue on night flowers. container.

put the sun in it.

suns talk across

their cloudline. then several. a

landscape composed of light is just a landscape

with a lot of light.

built geometries reduce

to parts when summer turned

birds jittery, ocean edge flutters, under, even the

arctic seed vault in danger

of dying. field,

without surface, goodbye. bees. goodbye,

bees and small fish and sprouted seedlings not

taken by flood. milkweeds and

deer, nautiluses, beaked

and whorled, a dream: remember,

nacreous sunrise. because as far as i could

see the industrial scrawl. then

i went too

far into my own mind.

trees became green. lights became lights, then green,

and then a little yellow.

very soon sun

spills back. the tissued landscape

drags neon onto. several vectors of disaster. small

hollow of the fronds and

long thin stems

in negative space, the lilt

of it. hey, the sun said, there’s a

mechanical thrum. pulsing space. and

slips into grid.

sun slips into grid and

tongue light. you don’t live anywhere. arcade of

yellow sun spreads open, a

whorl of bees

haunt earth, as tender as