Zephyr

Again, we cast dies of noons into rivers of zephyrs
and pluck refracting prophecies out of the office

of a shark-toothed sea urchin by which I mean
what better way to Jonah one's gloom call into the

belly fat of a nitrifying chamber. I mean, I ammonify
sadness and photosynthesize happiness from the light

of silhouettes dancing in the shadows of my murk reality.
Below this Mediterranean of divine revival, I am an analagyph

of dark matter seeking the swallow of a trellis of light.