Sun Spreads Out
Patterns depend
upon rain.
Bright always
ever-beating
the world becomes
a building
becomes a wound.
Confounded
in order:
fire opens
then my chest
is a closet—
and here shade
is probable.
Seen as an arc
but truly a circle,
Specter, thy name
is chemistry.
Now our gables
grow down
to the gate—
evincing
no possibility
of lifting the sky.
Plus, we’ve seen
pilots push buttons
to land planes.
I want you
to put my hand
on the vapor.
I want to acronym
every part of our day.
My body
is reading.
Better yet,
I’ve turned over.
Upside down
colors of you
rain through.
Posted 08/19/11