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Rosa Celeste by Gustave Dore

Taking My Pulse

There is a refresh rate in my head.
My eyes so fixated upon the world’s reflection
Shining at me in a cool buzzing glow
On my hand. On my sleeve. Fixation

The grass sparkles
like it’s moving in and out of existence
like the hot air surrounding a furnace
or a road baking in sun.

The algae bloomed. I smelled it.
Beyond the Redwing Blackbird’s calls
The lagoon of swans is green and sprouting
It smells like when I was a boy

The sparkle is better now
I think my head, my ears and my jaw
were cold and tightly wound