Sunflowers compose
a symphony of light seeds...

I live in this tiny part of Indiana
where everyone waves when passing by...

Walking barefoot has never felt this good,
to throw restrictions further...

Endless.
The ocean dome...

Electrocute me against gravitational pull
because the radical stars coerce every milky bone...

You peel away the angled mirrors
until no light is reflected...

Pump my heart into an underground river
where each molten stone and message...

She posed like a crow
darkly vulnerable yet...

The day mourned as if every tree base
was a rueful cry that became softened...

The red-stained lark
stitched his libretto...

I glance back at the stoic siding and windy shafts
with reminiscence of healthier schedules...

Chasing evening star,
you cup the fire of February...