That the sky is a snake, resting
in a warm bed. That I’ll be called upon
to rename the Earth and have to use
the name I’d saved for my firstborn.
In only a day
the car rusts over, all of it.
We ride horses
but I am thrown.
I fear the rosemary bush growing so fragrant
I no longer treasure it.
I fear we’ve come over halfway.
I fear we’ve nearly arrived.