The sky opens its mouth.

Clouds burp out.

I smell raspberries but

my hand avoids your face.

I see persimmons ripening

and the tractor trailer sails through the miasma.

I hear silence and I touch your face

Bernie Sanders flies over Los Angeles and

if I stand on my toes I can just touch his shoe.

I taste soot and see dogs surrounding the tree,

sniffing at its bark.