Monarchs are flying low and long over the grey valley;
and all the streams that boasted a mountain mother
have been silenced by the heat. No rain for months;
all the mouths in and out -the million pores, viscera set in blood -
wait for moisture, asking questions about loyalty.
How long can it last without a body?
How adhesive is habit?
Now she will learn to trust the bridge of denial;
now she will yearn for lushness and wish for rain.
Simplicity hides in the blanket of the eyes:
the two-inch separation of the wooden step,
the narrow diagonals crossing the computer screen
where the sun cavorts to create geometry;