News broke out this morning –

In the dawn

Liveried flies roused up

For the first watch even disdained

To kamikaze the storm-door pane –

the yard so Asian serene

that even the cat

drawn out from the bedroom’s cool

could not help but pause

in the grass

flick

with surprise

and retreat –

from these,

the first small nebulae of

provincial life,

the cup at your radiant lip,

your bare foot on the step,

anything procured with wings

had fired in light for you,

like jewels flying out of a mine

like pots flying out of a kiln

here

you find what you knew

last night

you would find:

the yard serene,

epistemological bees hum at the screen –

the agreed-upon aubade.

News broke out this morning –

by eight

almost by mistake we reflex toward

a human voice

and this or that depredation.

Were green world enough

we might allow

such huge misrule,

but what do flowers know about flowers?