Sure enough four petals a touch of orange in the stem knee-high That’s Farsetia. This is the only place you will find it On top of a hill, green in August A short-lived trick Then, a return to bare and rocky.
I've been waiting for the rain For its tentative drumming on the tiled tympanum of the house Before the fulsome rhythm takes over and sentences just run on
in the scheme of things it is not as momentous as the huge chunk of Greenland’s Peterman Glacier breaking off and drifting out to the open sea, and there exists no NASA satellite image of my heart
