Seasonal Works with Letters on Fire

In Summer, Everything Is Something’s Twin

I N S U M M E R , E V E R Y T H I N G I S S O M E T H I N G ’ S T W I N Tell your mother’s first syllable the moth to bring its trigon to the doorframe . . . the universe is speeding up, electrons swallowed by the rose— you work so hard, too-hard-too-hard. Humans have made a disaster but —but what, sister? —but nothing, pencil. tttap-tap. Such a short season between dogwood & tiger-lily. Sunscreen sinks between hairs on your arm. Western yew [Taxus brevifolia] requests a canopy . . . People come here for their bit of joy, they gather in western towns, radicals growing weed in the woods, makers of quilts & clouds, loggers, keepers of the sick with their hounds; they rest on weekends, in bars, for love without reason or ledger; Castor & Pollux sink in the cougar’s cry . . . in a month or so, the sky will swallow Gemini— Hurry now, for the hive is ill, the cedar branch bows low as the wagon passes & earth lies in the long earth bed . . . Plenty of accidents come your way but today you are otherwise, today you train yourself to be safe, to work as Billy has trained the little horse— F O R C H 2 4 ...