Clean arcs of water in buttery just-dawn light.
A rustle of tree leaves.
Distant mountains silent. Roars yet to be discovered.
Cinnamon smoke.
Mornings of cloud, plaintiff meows, one-counts for 2% dispensing.
Engine rumbles.
A puffy white blob–pursed lips with trailing attendants–against a sheet of blue-gray. Turning slowly.
The mother-ship has finally come for me.
