From air I have crept
in spheres
through caves
underground

making an entrance
to the roots
Over time, I am hardened
in the cold Om thrill
up freezing oar,
toads forest
Ice thin
growing over a jewelry box
of mineral instincts
slowly
foraging
for the silica
as it enters me, a cool bath of fingers,
forming thousands of years out of me

i. Arc.tic Eur.ope mark.ings wo.ven to lea.ves –

8 Salix Boloria nails whisper the
rocky, submarginal dark –

triangles of Alberta and most wide –
arctic willow (except, occasionally,
other spots of Discal cell) Numero Uno, we've parallel branch
( n. )
with basal spot
invaded by the darker
adjacent colors or silvery white;



























ii. Fo.od pl.ants l.ight Ka.nsa.s


defined Oakland or the apex clasp
inner face of Valva
Texola Higgins. Food?

Brooded multiple orange
various species, obsolete cells

Yellowed cast; transverse lines..............(...)
9 Chlosyne wings; dark Maculation
Virginia portion

























iii. re.d ex.tend.ing


multiple orange (except Vesta Millicta)
Athalia Ambigua

Callophrys south
brooded flowers
connected wing

tooth like line
but central gray
new Juniperus

i.
We've seen armchairs yarned in factories
as they take away great grandmother
with cancer of the lungs, a string of long
fluid woven into her assembly

apt for a tapestry, a long room
that is woven of her memorized thread of choice.

A Volta television swamp floats until breath emerges
gentleman like, heated from its length of rope nerve.
Six looping pythons in one belt

4:44, a tilted mirror and
a bookshelf.

Those are soft windows that keep these four eyed rooms in our pretty cat yarns. Asleep under the mouth of a friend, or a spiral love contained in each small hair. What formula the birds make at our wandering language(s)– researched for eighteen years before we meet in the flesh beneath a flickering halogen. Arms we attach, the extra wings that we have set upon one another's broken shoulders– the ones to repair the loss and pay for damages inside our breath. Souls wiggling next to each other from the radio waves inside us, to the licking skin, a nights alone weave person to long anchored person– Build the secret machine in us. Tuned at that night watch as the snow passes down our loving loop story– It's Myst of our devises we must someday submerge, alone one another to final transmitter tower, a dark left turn upon the electric, we gotta go down that channel, the open sign where an electric daisy rises up.