click across grass, hopping
so as not to signal full ascent.

those beaded neurons
wet with tradition, slick with practice.

one thing seeks another. summer fire
holds. we dream danger and the air

is so gentle, the sun unbearably
compassionate. i am plush stone fruit.

i am waiting for something to happen.
at the raised hand nature enters

with a toolbox and plies away.
i held a human brain once…so heavy.

hands everywhere you look.
solitary bows. bright orange
bellies. pollen.
insistence. shying.
mud. the arrows
that eat each other.