You seed yourself like grasses in a field but also between the ochre stones of an ancient street. You bring on darkness and sunrise.
The mind rubs against the landscape like a branch scraping against window glass. Fence railings blind with solar white. A sliver of barren mountain
I never weeded smoke so it roomed with a ghost wearing starlight all day. My ancestors shivered with me. I swallowed campfire heat with
Lycaeides melissa samuelis Tucked inside the confines of its tiny wings, the whole sky. As it flies, the two blues blend, and it seems