From this blue born

Because of the decency of the egg in the mower’s hand because of its vacancy its matchless

matching pale sky blue to clouds that orient by their iterations because of the fact of the egg’s

having held a particular wetness of first-born swelling because of the decency of a thing having

been by a thin layer covered because now from its holy mouth spews beatitudes forms with its

body impossible angles because of the mower’s sweat in sidelong matching egg with purpose

not pebble but vessel of unknown vacancies matchless as any blue in any sea and from this blue born

because of the thousand weeping chicks who’ve fallen from chinks in the wall because of the

hayfield the mower sets out to mow and the morning that calls him early into its transiency

because every egg is a newcomer beseeching its own adamant clarity of air the sky of bed

the grass so that even this egg resembles the nativity because of the decency of the mower’s

hand the capacious unity of scythe and filament of each after all that must be cut because of

all that orients by iteration is each by its vacancy known