I wonder who made the first beach.
It wasn't the sea shells, they were still...

I watch trees from my woods,
black bark against a cyan sky...

Every second, each sentence passing
through the clouds, draws magnetically...

Recessed against the sky
Like a playful winter child...

Fractions reduced to motes,
twilight frost with ghosts...

Tell the artists what you think of time
and of their soft and chalky lips...

Above the grass between
my arms-- the smell of her hair...

Two shapes swirling
as a noise crackles...

The club of a caveman
waving in the brown heat...

Summer blooms upon your dress,
I'm thinking Can you guess...

And there in the jungly movement I came upon a...
Fled gasping from a star that broke...