a clump of black ants up around
the white stem sucking
sweetness where they find it

everything poses before
someone's eye
pauses to forget
all this becoming

when suddenly
language steps up
'pay me what you owe me'
'call me your messiah'
'reply to this message I never sent'

last night we dreamed that all the gardens flipped over to show us their roots and bugs, dirt-dark stones - gardens like crazy boys dropping their pants to moon us, flipping the finger: "here's for all of your precious pretty things"