Stepping out in to the street, the front door kettle clicks closed

Stepping out in to the street, the front door kettle clicks closed

At the market she buys six leaf clemantines
and sits by the pond, par peeling them
thinking, they're a lot like options.

She performs procedures,
saves a luminous dinosaur foetus
from own umbilical shit,
with one milk molar.

She feeds it the soft bits of her fingertips,
tells it about the weeping trees
that can be found by streams
shading in the black on fish backs.

She rests it on the bench to give it a better view
of the racing skeeters and aphids
sleeping on the mud crust,
it's only orange eye blinks
and she is sure the glowing increases

so she sings to it of everyday things,
how the streets come in pieces,
but the sky has simple seams
which blinking, make move.