potato mountain clouds form above the blue horizon

scooped up from a side dish

of delinquent vapors, hanging out below the trees, while

through your sun-lit tresses you fumble

for words like beguiled, quiescent, unfettered

—the longer-lasting federation

of light, so much less mathematical

now—from your eyes the uncalculated beauty

of a hummingbird, its errant points and integers

floating like flakes of snow

in a bowl of blond or scarlet light—