I know the world hasn’t ended
yet but people’s eyes are greyed
over. Necks scaffolded. 

And the whole country is a hill
that’s actually a glacier.
And I feel it rocking as molecules
shiver with warmth, calf
off with miniscule Cs 2 octaves
up. The seasons keep going
unsurely, like I don’t know if I can
do it, mommy, I’m scared.
Still there are red leaves and icicles.
Cloned lambs. Slaughterhouses.
Gemini overview. Dronestrikes.
And I’m still trying not to hear
my mother’s war-stricken voice
in my love’s mouth.

I have never needed to know
if I will live again. I want to worship 
this place. I am awake as
I can be in the second 
womb.
What a blessing.

All my childhood protagonists
had red hair, too. A princess
who saves everything by dousing
red eyes.

June is a kind month. Still there is June.