Fists of the universe bruise the sky with clouds,
screaming at stars as they bleed black into the dust,
tears of dark fire falling among immaculate roses.
The heat is a heartbeat, a palpitation beneath
ribs of rotting airplanes and snowy mountains.
The spectacle of the peaks is a frosty contradiction -
twisted faces made from fluid lines,
divergent colors of orange and blue.
Because they don't know how to cry like the clouds,
rivers weep like broken seahorses,
chuckling as they catch themselves
in the gnarled curls of tree roots.