In the aftermath, the center of the city
turns into a forbidden sphere.
From the air, thin vapors describe
what once subsisted there.
No one can remember signposts, bouquets,
or where the crosshairs focused.
The sky is a tray of hidden circuits,
tilting as it approaches full capacity.
Somewhere a lever flips and the chrome-
colored marbles begin their trajectory,
passing field after field
of stenciled poppies
then disappearing into funnels
or invisible throats.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
