I opened the curtains just long enough to let them know
about the shape our regret makes, jumping from cloud to cloud
There were lovers somewhere, calling that lightning.
Slowly the sky had been learning year after year how to set without the sun
so here’s a meadow, and it’s empty in human senses
an obituary for the one who'd written them all along
Can you hear the scarecrows preparing?
I told the crows, "some protons rise"
maybe lovers were on to something.