I see flowers
insulating the mind’s
crosshairs from straying
    within the confines

I see flowers,
in firefly spackled silhouettes of
oak, willow, maple, oak or maple
        I’m not sure.

I see stars
insulated from the minds
by the dark slate for lightning
            benevolent—the minds
   relishing, welcoming—the mines

I see coal flowers
    cauliflowers, sky castles, sensual magistrates,
               glimmering spies upon towers
flags for every color of emotion
       tangerine naïveté
       eggplant melancholy

I see in
      nine new interior windows, twelve
        new exteriors I would not have seen
                had I not sat beneath
                the bird tree

with feathers grained in flowers.