things fall into place, when gravity talks.
as the boats at the docks bob in the sea of discrete rivers
surging in the span,. and you might be surprised to find
an elbow macaroni sculpture
erupting from the skull
of a honey bee.

these days, are now like paper so thin
you can see yesterday, clawing at the hem of your skirt.
but ghosts are like daffodils.
and in a hundred years
you'll be old enough
to pluck one.