Father Time grounds his Sun's dial
by an ocean of hot sand,
his world inside an hour glass galaxy
spiraling downward
like a blue feather from a jay in a baobab
the mirage a lake, an eerie oasis throbs,
fuzzed by heat's blurriness.

Einstein peers through invisible specs
his peers skeptical of what he suspects
questions answered by questions
matter no longer matters
in accordance to my flannel pattern,
an arid desert spreads our earth,
Whitman's witnesses,
your songs causes gasps
in every plant's lungs
not just the grasses.