i. the sunflower if there ever was a sunflower seed lying dormant in the navel of this dirtbed, epiphany; water will wear thin thwarts into resurrection, it will stretch skyward loosenits yellow limbs to heavens breadth; overcasting sardonic granite but it will not turn towards the sun, try as you might to implore a stuborn heart is to call upon mercy, so it remains averted; the notion of devotion assumes light to be a virtue. Albiet, the notion, compelled, contorts its bony fingers, digs into humus. mirrored in shared calcification and dismemberment- a tide that turns. always. it unearths the buried, trichomessoaked in cerebral imprint. the sanctified is elsewhere. ii. the salmon the salmon homebound from and whereof, mistakes instinct for vocation; the currentsare indifferent to its travel as they are to that of a stray bark. plankton clings to its ribs; its disemboweled entrails reveal a curious anomaly, there is something mildly wrong in its diction. the earth warps; magnetic dissonance ensues, the salmon’s trail subverted, its salt suffused gild no longer supplicates a bland existence. Inevitably it knows the certainty of one truth alone. that only seeks to agitate the riverborn and buried. a tide that turns. always. its spatial awareness now spectral, a false north sets in motion unmoored vortex that pulses from there and thereon.