I wake to see a cardinal1 in our white crape myrtle. My eye aches. Bees celebrate morning come with their dynamo-hum around a froth of bloom.
Though presently its paradise for the bees，noon will reach ninety-nine degrees. Le vierge， le vivace et le bel aujourd hui will stultify2 hope in ennui3.
I watched Raging Planet on TV. Earths orbit around the sun appears to alter every hundred thousand years.
Each thirty million years，mass extinctions attend Earths traverse of the galactic plane.
The asteroid4 rain that cratered5 the moon returns， brings species deaths.
In the Hudson Bay region of Quebec，the Laurentide ice sheet only a geological eye-blink ago lay two miles thick.
Disasters preceded us， like violent parents.
Pangaeas fragmenting land mass drowned origins like lost Atlantis：an enigma6 for consciousness.
These continents will re-collide in their rock-bending tectonic dance，as once before Tyrannosaurus died.
So change continues by chance，as if meaninglessgranite to sand，sand to sandstone， sandstone to sand.
In five billion years， the sun will expand，to Venus and Mars， then end planet Earth. The hydrangea blooms its dry blue， burns a brown lavender.
Earth whirls in space and August comesthis slanted8 light my calendar.
As I water the pink phlox， I wonder what use there is for a world of matterwhy the universe exploding into being invents night and star-incandesence？
We are the part of it that feels it，thinks it， seeing this time in its slant7 on bloom with our physical brains that change it as they sense it.
We become. We hum a story as tune，in sonata9 form that runes this sphinx- riddle10 sequence as notes that the pharynx fluctuates， to mean.
So This Nearly Was Mine assuages，braced against old loss and war.
Emile de Becque sounds rich with knowledge of children and love， before
