Loading the twin calyculi
at the dawn. Cotton grass
will get an―
extortionate price.

Silence was dead.
And as were the protests
of levitating poppies.

Chasing a colored storm
becomes a craze, these days.
Bystanders will witness
the fall of blue night.

You want to unfollow
the begonias now, cultivating
the unkissed music on the
lips of swaying reeds.