We live under umbra. A shoot of green bones of light.
In ring of petal shadow.
Each tentacle is a shard.
In this chandelier of chrysoprase.
This phosphorescent circle of gnarled branches. This apple-green web.
Each ray is centripetal.
A constellation of risk. A dare.
We live under inside in-between.
Gemstone globules.
So wide-eyed. They make our tongues thick.
We try to fuck it. This green.
An act. In gruff fragility to the "grass light"