Post-turbulence I hug the road’s blue

curve. Mid-morning melt—

lakes twisting other lakes. I am blind to

the periphery: you describe rocks, undergrowth,

a scribble of trees. A reindeer bows into slush. For the first

time in months I am as calm as folding linen

sheets into clean, straight

lines. All I can order are two vegetarian

pizzas. Sticky pickle & pineapple. Time is

like that in the climate apocalypse. Whipping

ourselves with birch leaves & restless for three

weeks of autumn. Some daydreams are

meant to swerve onto the wrong side of the

highway. The way water refracts light &

insects but also swallows them. You flick

me across the sauna like paint. On the train a child

asks: can dogs get mental illness?

Glaciers leaving scars on rock. I don’t think

our solar conditions are right. Air moving

in & out of glaciers, salmon,

dinosaurs. Exhale ’till it hurts & we might

just float to the top.