What's Orders Time

What's orders time or what
senses is mist?
The day's clear spans
the hard jacarondas lift

their fern soft leaves~
mass in pod~
their seeds drift, scut,
along uniform paving.

Here I walk, and kick,
but few, to grass slopes~
and all those blades, tell me,
Something~

Is my sun planet as round
chemically suited
as the blue-aired domes
over its leaves and litter, here where
tasks're set in Rome's falter,
those sun feet?

Their dirt took long, in blight,
never seen, their driving
towards a Night, angled,
the round stars dancing
in this, tall blades, this bath
around me~

Wander,
in it,
for I can't be tideless
with this Moon.