Fieldworkers of the Sublime

In a dream, two lovers’ thighs scythe
around each others’ centers.
Spring again!

            A scientist grafts eyes
            onto the tails of blind tadpoles.
            It works. The proof

is the tadpoles can now follow
rotating optical patterns. Nervous systems
rebooted, they swim

            into the fluorescent light.
            Once the laboratories begin hatching
            bombs, the pond scum and lilies,

their slick, hairlike roots,
are left naked in buckets. The room
of the world shakes. If you see me

            from there, there
            where I have lost you, here
            is a picture of my body, bright with data.

Copyright © 2018 Nomi Stone. “Fieldworkers of the Sublime” originally appeared in American Poetry Review. Used with permission of the author.