we are responsible for the obsolete it’s in everything, after all. time, dust shifting unawareness a drop of rain or a hand on the ocean how cosmic, how quaint what else but marigold fields? what else but the record of a hummingbird symphony? where were you when they whitewashed the moon gave paradise an old man’s haircut? another night, another longing for someone familiar. even stars nibble at the skin some truths are fatal. some showdowns are the vendettas of planetary flowers—and so what? if the sky is falling, pick it up the science of god is final the atmosphere’s a beehive and i am mired in the possibilities of airplanes: paragons of infinite sadness, your name written in saltwater, violence of love, etc.