Quoting myself

Peace without children, yellow field where I dissolve, finally, into a murmur of bees.

The poppies’ sea-green pods swell like thought-balloons in the comics, each one empty except for an asterisk.

I’m taking this opportunity to get in touch with my roots, said the wind-thrown tree.

The aging transport ship floats motionless as the Newtonian surface of what they still sometimes call outer space dissolves around it.

On the next to last boxcar, in neat black letters: NATURE WILL WIN. Then the flashing orange light receding around the bend.