I enter the internectarine world.And the last lines of "Ars Poetica," a dreamy poem from the same collection:
The stone is there, at last.
The seed is there, in that.
Now I will eat the rest of the flesh
of the nectarine fruit
the way all things eat each other
in the world at large,
Look, he said, nothing remains of anybody,
everything is aimless here.
We wanted to follow a flying squirrel
to the home of time, but everything
exploded into fuzz.
We knew whose it was.26 of 30. Happy National Poetry Month!