A nightingale dives towards
mined florescent fluorite minerals
as it curtails its wings
to change its trajectorial line
to land on an approximated piece.
It twitters songs of glib connections,
with its eyes of inverted concaved florescence,
of the artificial and the natural,
of ludicrously unblinking lids.
A glass sphere of optical filters
emits ultraviolet illuminations
prior to the dusk and dawn
of one star and one fixture; redux.
While it would plead hopeful,
aghast, on this storied planet
of ridiculous magic tricks.