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.