I PERCEIVE SILENT TWINS OF OUR GALAXY

Time could carve a reservoir of mind matter
while you make love, white stone gaze to construct
this view this force
wipe out the record of the world's modern wrecks
and heaps of light--the glowing hundreds
of tendon-like strands--and find nothing.

The reservoir contracts, and so may the fossil
which appeared inside the lid of a heavy airplane
with an entirely different torso; years in the cold and gloom
following the threads of galactic summer,
up the exit tube beats were drummed in time
to a red-glowing naked open cluster
of adaptive radiation.

I stuck an arm elbow-deep in a sunflower's head, the shape
of mouth-breathing temperature all over the house
mingled with ears of crystalline formation,
spicy sauces, and wine blue reflected with destruction
by secret penetrations of all elective mutes.