Today a ladybug flew through my window. I was reading 
about the snowy plumage of the Willow Ptarmigan 
and the song of the Nashville Warbler. I was reading 
the history of weather, how they agreed at last 
to disagree on cloud categories. I was reading a chronicle 
of the boredom that called itself The Great Loneliness 
and caused a war. I was reading mosquitoes rode 
to Hawaii on the same ship that brought the eucalyptus 
to California to function now as a terrible fire accelerator. 
Next to me almost aloud a book said doctors can 
already transplant faces. Another said you know January 
can never be June so why don’t you sleep little candle? 
A third one murmured some days are too good, 
they had to have been invented in a lab. I was paging 
through a book of unsent postcards. Some blazed 
with light, others were a little dim as if someone 
had breathed on the lens. In one it forever snowed