Once it begins, the score is obvious.White vines with wildflowers springalong the fence, our center. Syntax folds,the ballot shrinks into a coin and flipsthe dews suspend us and we kiss ourselvesand cannot touch our noses. I love listening.What awful noise, that is the bride's a bridewhere we are minor, swift. I bless our fence. Ornamental light. Who's there, a poxto love's decay, a day away from day?As proud participants – a sampled weightof bleeding ray? Her curfew crushed the world.Then it was richer, a corridor to heavenequivalent and loved, an encore. Dove. Where we have history, there is insistentgarnishing with parsley, eveningsof famine, a starlet's bra removedby scientists in drag. And there you are,Amaryllis, whose duck-duck-goose unrollscalling us to wonder. Love's sacred bunker. There are many greens. The machineis self-sufficient. And here I pipe a dropin pressure. Ancillary, I drive belowthe ether, slipping stony thoughts."What's alive is lovely," "Like patterns overtime." Shorelines the aspen flutter, revive,cool beneath some clouds, I sampleWalden Pond this global noon. I say Amarylliswith binary effectiveness:opensesame,               repeat,               open seasonfor the sake of Battus.                        Repeat:Battus. Amaryllis, let speak my eyes.