the vehicles burn through the night
the air smells of condensation
at 3, dawn is not apparent
at 4, the world conjectures, rises, is lifted by the stars
at 5, the world lives in the cool-blue backwaters from which the humming exhaust-exhaling vehicles burn through the night

maybe dawn is not apparent
but it is held in waiting
in the hued peaches
dreaming on the trees

the floodwaters
when they surged
forth and twisted the roots
dislodged the rocks
washed wide the streambeds
tunneled through the dirt

rearranged the world
the impact still spreads
the spirit lingers in the heavy brass date
hung upon the wall

for each thing
is represented in all places
as through unique interactions
all things are connected and expressed
uniquely and infinitely