Earth after sun is slow burn
as eye scales darken.
Smaller sunlives all dim slowly
to predawn invisibility
but self-digesters constantly glow-burn.
Their blood-coals fleet
glimmering as I spin
lightly over textures.
Passenger of my passage
I reach round upright leaf-burners, I
reach and follow under rock balances,
I gather at the drinking margin.
Across the nothing there
is lapping blank, which segments serially up
beneath the coruscating braincakes
into the body
three skin-sheddings’ length of no-burn negatively
coiled in a guttering chamber:
it is pedalling of now,
a scintillating melon,
gamboge in its hull
round a dark seed centre
and hungry as the sun.