Georgics
I am an ambient sister to bees. I hum until my name turns translucent.
A library of moths flutters from my bomber sleeve.
I palpate clouds among runnels of dangerous oxygen.
I write the terminal index of wounds. Your quills are back.
My left hand plucks incisors from their flaring palate.
Black hills stack. I write the parabola of submerged bubbles.
The somnambulist swan fondles a vardapet.
The somnambulist stammers. It stalks synesthesia.
My translucent name purrs from a Spartan tongue.
I write buried bones. Ellipses breed between my eyes.
The vardabed drops his species into the sun.
The somnambulant child speaks through slotted mouths.
If I write over quills they will magnetize like royal silver.
My dusky palate flares. I apologize. A quiver parts its lips.