skies are falling, aquamarine quilts laid
cloud-spotted at your feet. you choose a narrow
path, blond with brown pebbles, leading
to where shadows lean across cliff faces.
twinkling diamonds, underneath coal-pitch eyes.
no mining needed. but the age, evident. set in
a royal lady's necklace are individually
bound facts, an immense array of thetas,
chis, and the logic that X follows Y.
rugged edges result from centuries of picks,
down the sandstone, almost a lost shell. but your wings
know better, delve into the slit of the unknown as
if an osprey. winds blow the quilts between two legs,
human -- effortless, the sky pours forth -- without
needing to know, that each flower blooms twice.