The heat of day unloads a ton and the air is still as bleached granite.
thistles bristle in discreet steam. thinning and menacing the iron blue sky.
I choose the lemon sun with the ice heart thrumming
at the center of all worlds. and cool my jets.
i submit to the hidden mercy, and succumb to the river of riddles. emboldened.
golden in the old way. but shipwrecked regardless.
i have a maze
that's all
mouse.