A soft freeway of bicycles propels me
through the fog. Following strings of
lozenge lights towards future’s mills
and runways, our departure’s earliest
signals barely warm. A fern’s puzzled
twist as the passageway elopes. Kudzu.
Jungle hums, for the planet’s relief.
Teams of tomorrow under bramble guns,
silk tissues and gauges. Blasted from
the womb of love, sorry letters. Once
upon the thyme they did roll together,
battened tears and whispered comfort.
The shape of secret pregnancies, leaf-
like in their shallow introductions.