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The energy of corroding hills
set batteries humming under our uniforms
dream relatives returned soaked
from imaginary bathrooms
demanding to see the hidden gardens
in butterfly half
mother and daughter, heels punching
between old roots of city forest

webs of path speckled with shattered intoxicants
the spilled life of fish on rocks
aglow with dusk-blue afterlives
viscera in flower on an unmasked apron
the day broken into a jelly around
aging footprints of swamp

You'll pass, in a green cloth
with an unringed hand
a bottle of spice to torch all others
then disappear into a slender pink door
in the repeating jukebox

Fueled by solar winds and the falling of huge pines
we clink frozen apricots together
on an amphibian balcony
marble tarring a single blade from the light
that pins our sources to their handiwork
necklaces of baby scissors floating on plastic handles
in a lost well
familiar brown ready to rot comes
down from the familiar trees

the energy of constructing hills
you'll pass by, drinking what
the engines all through the evening have unthawed
powdering the wings of illegal moths
sending them into the skylight
in little sandwich bags
and all the napkins of money
will not stop their deaths from flying.