seventy wingbeats
per second
vagaries of vegetation, rosy
anticipation I
turn the page without
reading

essence of
accident

what is the strongest
motive what
drives the solar wind

time's not so
old, dating only
from the creation

New England has
cooled significantly, icy
core with a sooty coating

this ice
hard to break—the brain
will have to wait

catharsis of the
vulture, obligatory
vespers

a bat, painted the
color of joy, head
downward because

the brain is
heavy I put on
music but don't always
listen

whether magma could
rise to where tones reach
audible frequencies

modest success with a late
parasitic moth we will soon

find out if all this
is true

sudden drain on the
heart, more
doubt, the big

melt: anything
gone is
replaced