The cider is bitter, but the
air is sweet. You pick up a
salted piece of pie and bring it
to your friend, the scientist. A segment
of the future, underneath you. It is blue and
green, a mass of rising height. A phoenician
sees you in the water. He yells for his prince.
They throw you rope, the ropes are snakes, the roses
are wakes, pedals in your eyes.