Lynette, the stars are kerned so far apart— Through a herniated zodiac I almost see your waled skylanes, your shocked Capricorn and Cancer. In the hundred and two years since you were born, and the sixteen since your heart failed,
'I thought of you as a butterfly tonight,' getting to eschatology from a sketchpad, your mom's. And though you write sermons nice and linear you also digress and about-face. The jeroboam trees are dark tonight.