to johanna

im sitting at my brothers desk
a patchwork of utilities gathered in this
technocratic nativity

a temple of circuits guiding
the simple speeches of numbers.
the halo enthroned in caves and silica
a valley crouched in sleep
spitting seeds of fire.

i see that blue canvas entrenched above us
like an oil painting
the clouds painted by the oceans careful fingers
a stroke of white trees cuts through my vision
the crows are falling
to the field like ash
a slow black descent
only
to
rise
to fall again.