ant5

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the sour smell

from all

the open cans

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get ready

for the moon

before it sees you

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tiny white flies

settled back on

the leaves like dust

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you explained hydrolysis

the train is still

passing

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swifts and

dragonflies nervous

about the bats

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evening

unreal words

start hanging around

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the flies

check in with you

at the door

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we wait

for the moon

in the warm blue haze

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observation deck

the wood groans

in the heat

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those aren’t

black pens that’s

a purple pen

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