Dark Matter

Purple mounds of statice catch the shaft
of gold from the setting sun.
Shadows lounge by the bamboo thicket.
Fields of lupine mold the mountains
fuchsia, lavender, and royal blue.
Purple sages blur in the onshore draft,
easing wind language into the moody change
of fading light, into dark matter.
The palette of spring ricochets and blends
within the bounds of human sight.
A vibrant ultra-world of violet and infrared
vibrates chemistry beyond our visual range.

Rooted in threat, castor bushes intermix
lurid purple and green bruises on the margins
of chaparral. I give wide berth to the serrated
star-shaped palms that threaten our road.
Their thick spikes clotted with prickly pods
resembling blood-red European ticks
might shield the perimeter landscape faction
of a Medieval fortress. Crushed plants
profuse dangerous dust and a nauseating odor
to lure all sorts of wildlife. Undigested
seeds shine from scat on the tarmac:
ominous synesthesia, a fatal attraction.

Castors propagate by ruse and entreat,
but chewing four seeds may fell anyone
innocent of the defense against grazers.
They kill off enemies with a deadly potion,
also occurring in more than two thousand
other species—some that we eat:
bamboo shoots and cassavas of Kingdom
Plantae, apple, apricot, pear, cherry,
plum, and peach seeds or stones.
Beware of ricin, six thousand times more
potent than cyanide, twelve thousand times
more poisonous than rattlesnake venom.

We’re surrounded, exposed to all three,
dangers that sprang to life long before we.