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.