noon

sitting in the yard
talking books to leafs and fleurs
salts of the earth well to the surface
freeing the flys up into humid skys
spiders and their ilk
web the sun to dark skin
stretched semipermeable thin
across the back of perpetual motioning
blood thick and mosquito itch
velvet antlers an elk
wandering down to the old watering hole
(or as groucho says what
is actually looking for
is an elkahole)
So what  to do besides
a launch off the dock
a cloud in pajamas
sailing out to add a splash of red
aberration on the silverblue ceiling above
below the silence
preaching volumes on eel grass ravines
the mud of the months
collections of colleagues lost
lists of fauna and granite dust
the past is present in the millers and midges
from swim under to flutter over
overtures to metamorphosis'
brought to you by igneous thoughts
glaciers long ago calved carved all
thats abouts
indivisible with the currents trees
ancestor moss and lichen
slowly turning stone into vitamin