I live in a pink truck at the edge of the sky.
August. Midday. Look up: flawless sky
until a cloud sprouts; sidles; suddenly
blots out the sun. Wind troubles the trees
I’ll fill my wedding vase
with deep-veined lilies, harlot asters,
pollen will dust the table
where I mass them every week.
I’ve been reading an obituary
The lonely gannet of Mana Island
Who fell in love
With a concrete statue