A mouth opens
and the Milky Way slides onto the darkest of tapestries.
A comet sparkles
burns out too soon.
I head-butt stars fraternize with them
listen to their prattle.
A camellia wipes off its red make-up
dumps it for the man with the motor mower.
I've created this circuit through soggy foliage
for whoever wants to use it.
Smoking chimneys on days like this
remind me of queues lined up ever shuffling.
Doors open and close. Someone
in a shabby uniform
is doing his sums.