Sing me the lullaby of a tether. A gorilla comes out of the cheat grass with his hands full. Bees into hail. I press my heart into your heart until you look toward the blow-up. Veins of land run toward the mess. There’s a cemetery on a cylindrical hill with graves from the Civil War. They are faster than powder and beautifully green. Look for the stupefying thing grown up between us. It is waiting for you. On the small hill. In the rain.