Summers unfurl razor leaves,
tiny fingers grasping soil.
Stomata, open like punctures
in a time card, convert light
to sugar, netted in a loop of hunger
and thirst, thousands of mouths
pulsing to the sun. Orbs of water
escape from silica and loam, loss
shivering strings of light, a web
we cannot sift through,
break apart. From space,
Iowa glows like a rash,
the hot pink of a star
rippling before its collapse.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 3.
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