There, on the screen: firewater -- and our minds all baby lips

And now it's happened, the getting of leaf, conjured by light's gravity

The last wolf, teeth masked in mist and milk, comes to steal Granny from herself

Deepfakes and pink slime: if we're going to go, let it not be like this

They barely dare to peal, the bells, so thick the fog of our muttering

I held my children, once, that they might find sleep. Now, sleepless, I clutch pillows

Fritillary in dappled light, dust- washed. This being unrancorous

June nears; with it the whiter light, the exhaustion of all our striving

A snail, each; moving on to where we know not; our faith in patterned shell --

If shadows play, there is sunlight. Veil sun -- and the shadows fade and drain [reel on insta]

The old stories cage us. Each new plan a bird that must fly through the bars --

the red hand is always there, hovering, tracing the length of our spines

Whence and whither the cloud army? Hard to call. So all massed intent --

All the care-takers give way to those with too many -- or none at all

Now it's felt, we know: the source of all that has been is a fire ball

I saw one walk so hard he stamped, cracked his poles. The leaves conferred, softly

We're all bare beneath the sky our accuser and she will find us out

Where they fell, we step serenely -- till we fall too. Lessons from limestone

And then the wind, drunk with rumour and mischief, set the plain seething

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