A peacock dreams of being a poet. It ponders, trying to shed its colors, turning its feathers into a gradient of flesh. On the other side, a poet longs for the peacocks colors; a galactic blend of earth, forest, sea and sky, as seen from a vantage point. The poet can close their eyes and absorb the knowledge of the finite. Yet, trapped in a monotone concentration, eyebrows plucked down to 111, they miss much. The peacock, dipping deep into the ink of the poet’s pen, sails through a tube into the poet’s body. A fluttering storm erupts, reversing the roles: the peacock finds itself under arrest warrant While the poet, his utterance collapsing into a cry; haunting, like a peacock’s wail struggles to describe the world.