Misty green mornings

between mildew and haze.

A spider-drop of sunlight;

the arcane cries let loose.


I creep along the wall, finger-tips pressed tight

(too tight, not tight enough) against plaster bullets

Eating craters into flesh pads.


My ears squeak in tune to verdant ruckus.


I close my eyes to inhale orchid fumes,

Spewing aphids when I blink.

I shower in the aquafied light.

The dance of steam entrancing, and I

(forgot to wash behind my eyes) remember Sunday's breakfast of pancakes.

The moss sponges beneath my feet are sultry and inviting.


I step away from the wall and discover the

greenhouse (effect).

Image I had in my head.