here I am in this blue moment, fritz of sparks
against the dark, tripping down of notes, angels
singing on a luggage beltway, dancing grapes rolling
around on plates licked by goats, that abandon
surety for silliness, branches that play with wind, tip
birds arse over beak, semi loquacious clouds bargain
with giant moths, no less than the fate of thunder
content of their wager, in this land of plentitude
raw clay, torn down into pockets of estuary, made
in the image of cup&bowl tectonics, rivers slide against
gravity, estuaries the original brats of the Gaian family
they laugh at basalt cliffs and their faux solicitude
columns of cloudy, water-laden air falls again, as if
it mattered, hence the humour, the belly laughs
old mountain ranges that shake hips of hills free
green arboreal sequins flutter to bared knees
of orchards, small bats wing at sunset, mosquitos flee
just ahead of the sound-mapping tongues, blue mouth
of tomorrow begins to yawn, and oh, the resurrection
changing times are upon us, small window of fortitude
the strength it takes to write, to sit calmly while the genii
within rip open the skin so they may surface and play
with teeth and nails, rolling me like a pill bug
upon the surface of the blue world, we burn angelic