Run upwards into the air with knife sheaths in your skin

the aurora borealis is melting.

Hurl a dagger into the earth

and stretch the blade across

in patterns of haunting blue.

The exposed truffle vomits out

Ruby reds and emerald greens — quite creative toxins.

Gently introduce a blade to the moon

It has forbade that profuse, delicate force.

Tumbling down in

clinks

    and

        clanks

   fall gemstones of celestial color so arresting

that they sparkle in an offset hue

to all but the content, flat observer

who listens to their collapse,

notices each shatter and successive mending,

breaths in resonance with gravity,

sees in that sparkling descent his own fickle patterns,

reaches out with incorporeal, blankety fingers,

offers a parachute, a trampoline, to still rebounding dreams

and sheaths one million knives

to fill his body bright with silver gleam.