Is it true that somewhere

                              the plum trees have happily blossomed?

                                                            Yi Saek (1328-1396)


(i)

          bee vertical

                    her flickering eye

                              enlarging
          hindwing shadows

                    skittering the bright

                              3rd storey dirt
          -edged aerie >>> trucks

                    gearing down

          into dusk’s gold
                    overtones (looping script on autoplay)


(ii)

          ‘you umderstand?’

                    we jabber, jabbing

                              phone translator apps
          surveying the non

                    -silence, stumbling

                              our conversations
          architectural

                    >>> her, me, Samsung,

          wind, brickwork, err
                    -ings, birdsong/ the sunshine & glass façades


(iii)

          joint pain, teeth

                    grinding along

                              in the adjoining room
          she is cross

                    -legged, meditating, 4am

                              upright as a stork
          in tatami fields, breath

                    -ing entirely in 3D >>> o

          possibilities, in
                    -finitudes & distance


(iv)

          our neighbor

                    Lung Biscuit

                              (informal) hunches
          through the weeks >>>

                    scowls ‘yeah’

                              to our hellos
          in the basement

                    of his

          bony-shouldered shadows
                    ‘thinking, thinking’/ fuckoffificatorily


(v)

          ‘birds, skζwårqnψg

                    in bird language

                              & the leaves ru
          -stling [sic]

                    in seasonal grammars,’

                              we think, touching
          our thoughts with thought

                    & all the sky

          a morning’s bluescreen
                    / flock of cadence harries past