If you need me I’ll be here a poet said still writing about the end of the world
I forget where I read her voice
We were trains passing on the internet
Now the inflamed Gulf burns my pupil’s pinhole camera coral neon blue
On the horizon a wooden ship
Count the sails
Count buoy bells summer clouds migraine hatching under the hairline count
Tiny fractures along your belief system
We live in a reckless formula I can’t see what makes it true
Look past no flinching to where the constant disappears
Galactic eons divided by butterflies minus stone tombs to the power of grass
I can’t solve for mortality