clouds sleep in on Earth
when you say
the first thing I saw was Tijuana
beneath our mother's hair

spill juice anywhere
transplant billboards with
eyes shooting petals
until the sidewalk ends near that Bugatti

it may have been
a cranberry
orange scone
heated up with Irish butter

the difference is an oblong
muscled from dawn
to wiry thistles underfoot
at dusk something like Exodus

adjunct recollective
how well I remember
luminaries in black synesthesia
leeching liquor in veins

you wouldn't look
to find a bishop here
is the compass
the terror of the dead buccaneer