I am from the future
I said to the afternoon
When he met me in the grey light
All the people in yellow
And a plate of squash and pink dandelions

It was March, as beautiful as anything
Lit as itself, the poetics of fever
Snakes and the chrome teapot
In which he poured me something like blue leaves
The death lions in the middle of the room

Love was an orange tree, that grows
Green and the air
The enemies are here, he said
There was a red wheel of fortune
Quiet as anything, like Chaos itself

It was the afternoon of the world
The window winter light an endless ravine
Outside the window, iced but not quite
All those years, the milk and everything
Anyway, I was done

I’m still a person, I said to the air
It said, I know, and gave me a tea
Made of something like snakes
And when I drank it I didn’t cry
I began