i.
Evil sleeps in an orchard
not far from here.
The apples sweat him out.
Dressed as god, the Sun
watches and nods.
He bleeds for them
out of his own mouth.


A god's mask
means protection.
But in time,
he will **** them dry.


And autumn will fall.
Postures will fall.
Pulses will fall,
like pills,
like poison.



ii.
A cloud forest
signals the first
of the shadows.


Summer is nocturnal.


A buttery Moon
leaves the world
warm and breathing.


The trees stir,
the stars hiccup,
and Nighttime climbs onto the birdbath
where it tells you all its tricks.



iii.
Evil blinks from a tree
where the apple skulls
intrude.
The garden combs you
through its arteries,
scooping
your midsummer grave.


A beautiful accident
closes in on itself.


And then a light like milk.
And then the whistling.



iv.
Summer whistles in the dark:
The sound of Evil kneeling
to the imagination
undoing him.


A deadly glow
becoming
a romance
on the white fences.


Nighttime draws dust
away from your shoulders,
translates Summer sound
and says,


You are your own harvest.


Your madness is only there
when you want it to be.