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[trance poem with the gray stone]
i traveled between dimensions together
mild weather medium depression
white tents at the hospital propped up on stakes
a few desultory carts outside like Europe
number is all wrote Baudelaire
was holding a spry gray stone given to me by A
could hear the crow over the fertile eye of the rat
i said to my companion there
a prank of orange poppies fluttering on the hill
fluttering of the white moth over a landfill
4 horsemen of the apocalypse but calmer
number is in the individual wrote Baudelaire
vessels in the road wrote #6 plastic
felt the souls pass by those i had known
some yet to be known here they said
bees had been coming back
violence had not returned in full force
breath of life inside
& fog passed by like a favor
each breath a soul we loved
a soul a fluttering between worlds
[depending on what you mean by that]
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