my body gets out at the airport
murmuring there’s gold
in them thar hills
malverns hulles, electric in august
they’ll be constellations
in september
acacias maturing,
their bready
blossoms will boom my head
then i’ll climb out of this phone, slip out of its
flight chords
and hum a planet
the standard
ovation of all trees everywhere
dumbing my ears
untangling their praise