On Wednesday, I learned trees are biologically immortal.
The sun-warmed puffed clouds strayed. Daffodils bloomed
in trickle-down light bent abstract buttercream, back swallow,
just breath and heart beat. We configured ourselves
to fetishize normality. Told-you-so’s now history.
Serving up alignments so remote we constellate multiverses.
Skies of baby blue, that texture, now future tense.
It’s ok if this revision won’t translate just yet.