Now I'll start one, again.
One.
You are here, map says, big toy world.
Assemblage with fireflies.
Love the world-- the plum moon that longs to break
or give out.
A door slams, but the house is quiet--
blizzard of nothing.
When you are sure there are no visitors,
you bang the machines.
Bang, bang.
But you are not dying.
That precious darling sleeps elsewhere and little.
You should light it on your eyes--
that and the windows.
And trees multiply a sylvan greening,
and clouds score the distance that
holds them, and fireflies--
a slipstream, spinners and jacks.