scallops

two birds trace


each other thru

the rain, muons

exploded.



since i lost my guides

all skies are gray

hair and silver streak.



the news is tomorrow

we will all huddle

in the sand, join

hands. platforms

tankers and pipelines

rise to greet

our babies. now, that's

progress. i will go



on the off chance your hand

is removed from mine by less

latitude than 6 degrees,

lost in seperate swords.



rain drips from the trees

&. birds have long



since found shelter

on their own. i wonder why

i leave a window

cracked on steel water,

a shell softening but cold.