By | 1 February 2020

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.

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