Anastasia Hager
Fire flies  luciferase
incandescence spades through
spatha trees.
The word catawba was lost in translation of..
Wilting lavatera at twilight projects a common order,
                  humility in-synch with rustling rhythms and urgent pitches.  This
train blow is no less significant than an early owl’s
whoo hoo striking a perfect G of necessity.
Summer fisks us lightly,
a liquin,
though hoodwinked, noosphere,  
pierced echo from the west;
Cross pollinates the silverfish and magpie;
this blood-orange and segmental    hearts of palm.
Elsewhere, hierarchy
Someone fled through on a zipline.
I have learned the uselessness of collection:
a tattoo of Michelangelo’s Pieta:
a dying monk:
a robin ravishes her last worm.
The zinnia lasted longer than expected with tall stalks, leaves arching for rain water.
Dahlia has now bloomed, facing south
and sweetpeas cling to their sweetness:
visual: face—form—vine
as if none of this ever happened.