lentils_of_the_moon raze up on elbows in your hospital bed, you receive a gift from a smiling stranger. here, in an unlatched takeout container, are lentils of the moon. these are no edible seeds you've seen before but a bouquet of faceless flowers, bereft of bud, bulb, or bract. you raise a mess of dirty shoots to your muzzle and turn the wind you've harnessed against itself. scentless and steadfast in their refusal to be anything but wild, the lunar legumes settle in their styrofoam home, silent as a sieve. you close your eyes and count the slats of the blinds you've drawn. one for every impossible thing grown out of the galvanized earth. 260703 what's it to you? who go blather from