These days, the unattended icebox
of Gaia’s daughter, Sky, flickers
on—
(a layer of cold crystals decorate the grass)
after her nightly
shade-shows:
turqouise to that cherry cotton-candy hue
to the mixed lavender & orange
like the Trix yogurt you used to eat at lunch.

When the color show is over
and the light returns,
Sky sighs—
Blonde powder does the flying tango.
It swims from the Ragweeds, small yellow
Tornados swarm the fields,
Dance above the rivers,
Among the highways.

Up the nostrils
of the rows and rows of people,
always moving on the earth.
They
begin to sneeze. Gasp.
Pinch their foreheads in disgust.
Curse at the Ragweeds they were given
and destroy.

We have to relate to everything and
We bond in our destruction.