(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 5, 2017)

The world
     resolves the core –
          the sky revolves
               its atmospheres

from blue to white
     to watermelon
          to night – coyotes
               inhale

their sleep, dreaming
     of bobcats
          lunging
               on rabbits –

the sabi of the tree
     is its deceiving
          bushness
               and asymmetry,

its crisp-rust
     smell of berry,
          leaves freshly
               toughbounded

covering the hidden
     folds of hills
          like country
               bedspreads

and cedar pollen
     blowing its dust
          over the dirt carpet
               of the plains –

tears of penance,
     choke of beauty,
          filaments of the lungs
               wheezing in the wind.