Collective Evanescence

We sleep softly
and tarry
and tarry
and stick. 

May our 
carrots become
parrots 

repeating the cold
color orange.

Folds could become
the little beacons 
in the geometric maybes
of a little baby orange.

Fruitful.

Another hand
filled with land
carrying soil

to a place where
they won't call it
dirt.