We trade in figs instead of mustard seeds,
replace chaos with scotch.
Each question answers its own sacred rune.
Time and space. Circle back. Repeat.
The science of misery, heartbeats in a spider's web.
What's false is finality, like burial at sea, like wisteria.
The barn swallow loves the sluggish wasp.
The hummingbird loves the foxglove's open throat.
Each time sorrow knocks, another starling
is denied entry into the eaves.