Quickly from sunny grass, rises a shallow night (ankle-level)
angling, mounting the lawn.
Tetris of shadows pile up before one can react, to an unfenced world:
zoology of inanimateness. Matter by — an un-argumentative quality —
renders itself peaceful,
wherever,
whenever,
however; Silence-intelligence
is mute galloping thickness,
trampling prejudice, dishonesty and malice,
and only parting for — noise,
bringing calculative thoughts. They seek problems. Issueless,
quiet nature is grassing over consciousness
and speaks through the kid on a milk carton,
voicing the missing that we’ve never seen.
It’s discarded by the thought,
I can do nothing with this.
We drop it in the junkyard of murdered attention-spans,
their lives cut short to the returning chlorinated sea of sunlight.
The night-bay is dried.