Frost in late Fall on a back yard garden.

  The neon morning blue light causes my eye veins

  to constrict as I look out the kitchen

  window. The coffee pot's breathy gurgle is

  crescendoing in the background.

 
  The back yard is cool and moist, waking

  my skin and eyes. Kites and bright yellow and

  orange tent walls flash by on a silver day

  after rain. Also a few strobes of being in a large

  ski vest of that material, then back to a warm sweater.

  I notice a large plane wing sticking

  proudly out of the ground in the far right

  side by two old trees. It is silver and slightly

  corrugated like the Spirit of St. Louis.

  An exaggerated robot shark fin, the ground snug

  around it like it's been there since the

  summer of the Bicentennial year. I brush my hand

  over its charged cold smoothness.

  Ghost Flash Movies.

 
  Briefly while in my car in early evening

  during an electrical storm with heavy rain there is

  silver. My energy and my cars cold energy

  are all known in one mammoth x-ray punch,

  while the radio makes a miniature splash

  explosion of static.

 
  Silver skeletons and elephants behind an

  ice blue sky. Silver-filled father's eyes, head back

  slow. He's smiling. Three metallic discs

  fly over the house. Silver beads shake into palms

  by an incensed temple.

 
  Leaded Moon ice chains on shadow-colored

  idol plaster grin in children's dreams of

  intricate white metal carriage wheels,

  apples, warm green yards. Snow coal Moon beach

  where frozen vapor sheets lie still. Stones

  shudder as old souls ricochet off their drum

  farther, deeper into space.