this is the best you’re expecting; a sky to
enlarge the gloom, a spoon to tell you
the meadow is impossible; well, i’m here to tell you
to shine, to not shine, to make oars of our legs
is to violate the most sacred arrangements
to agitate the sands precisely when
there is no sand at all; and crippling to
the undefined lives of trees and
other creatures seeking wild fulfillment
where do flowers learn to sing? who put
sailors on the moon?
why is heaven next to a drive-in
on a picture of a dirt road?
i try to be profound, but my friend, your
beauty is more brutal than the question,
as if that isn’t enough