Like supernovae artists, clouds disperse behemoth art,

Look out, Ophiuchus, Voyager’s near! Earth has randomly shot some gold your way. We hope our sounds and music suit your ear and you’ll...

five thousand feet above Sing Sing, you talk of your father, how thieves left him to die

Figures sprawl around the fountain, stretching out Like cracks across gray stones,

A city with no factories smolders in the afternoon, Above it, a dome of exhaust rises without a train

Golden brown parasols clustered near oak stumps, as if an artist

The dark woods invite me in to walk on pine needles between tall spruce and fir,

Without a hope of getting it right, the lake, calm and round, like a patch of mirror...

the week before you should have returned it you died without warning, the last pages