my poetry
is meant to be sang
softly
to a beat
you will never
quite
be able to hear

it sounds like
the diamond rains
on pluto
falling
into quicksilver
a faint whistle
echoing
through the hollow
dwarf planet

a stiletto heel
clicking
across the plastic hull
of a star gazer
as it circles
in ever closer proximity
to an errant
black hole

it sounds
like pollen wafting
in the breeze
over a field
of wildflowers
as the air
hums
with an impending storm
ozone sizzling
somewhere above

find your voice
sing along
with the one winged
bumblebee
as it dizzies itself
in frustratingly
lower
rotations
around the stem
of a poppy