he’s dusted cinnamon about the roots 
of every houseplant butterfly buoyant keyboard 
it’s about impossible, no? – to write anything but revenge?
though what but vengeance could counter a violence when
{
  to the (       ) there was no witness
                        }
where a net of hibiscus soaks at the base of a succulent
where a fig leaf weakens in the margins of a flake of tourmaline
where a repurposed beer can now hosts furred shoots from an unseasoned cutting
What if we selectively bred all plants to be carnivores?
{
  I’m trying to tell you, there was a (       ) here
                        }
knees skidded in carefully maintained grass outside 
– carving a gash near to bone with nothing just
photosynthetic pulp: blood and green dried to a complex
scab not unlike bird’s nest or owl pellet. Something beautiful
{
  to be shredded when examined; 
to mark this (       )
      }