EGG

I crack upon the horizon and

let leak the golden fiery yolk.

It splashes upon the verdant canopy and

sizzles in pensive fumes.

Spiced in the dust kicked up by cattle

And

Seasoned with the feathered flock

that ornaments the horizon,

The egg regains its aromatic avatar,

Much to the delight of nostalgia's nostrils.

Once I flip this egg over with the lunar spatula,

the night shall have its dinner.

A delectable drizzle of morning mist

shall be the beverage.

As for the eggshells,

I shall forge a taxidermied sun with them.

It will shine upon my mind’s dejected horizon.