alive, with nine visible
blossoms. This sight of earth
is from my father's bones.
Plastic wrapped halls open
between growing stalks.
Webs of wire
dangle dancing images
above the neon campsites.
This flowing valley is observed
from an emerging rock.
Old leaves are scattered in wax
on the resin of a fresh carved path.
Waterfalls crashing like the laughter
of happy women. Of a commons
where the well washes
rows of tired faces with buckets
of cool purple light.
The black hole's window
is in gold lace on the cusp of space.
A chair of rest smokes gently
with gone green hereafter.
The sky can't breathe
and the clouds can't think
wreathed skeletons arrive and sink.
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