I. Amidst echoing, graphitized pines

Fire ants gag oblivion’s jar

Gifting their Queen

Granulated, bruised diadems

II. Foamy wombs where the sea

Still throbs, black and white

And a lighthouse brings forth

Daughter of hope, thistle beret

I. My heart is a river of song

Within your atlas of miracles

In the rafters of despairs

Beneath the gutters

Of high stars

And the padlocks of our mouth

II. The trains of rhythm ensconcing

Fervent springs

Undressing to tunnels

Of nude fortepianos

In brisk symphonies of flour

And brumal florist’s delight