This fragment has two parts. The first splashes through the Hudson River one early morning this past September. The second will take place next week, on the Monday before Thanksgiving, inside the canal of my left ear.
1. The Dry
(thinking about Lucretius)
When I tried to count the rings the next day
I estimated one hundred years.
Numbers create order, and I sought precision:
40 feet tall
60 inches around at my chest’s height
20 inches in diameter.
Read MoreThe ocean has many colors. Whenever I look into its blue or green or gray or foaming white face, I think it’s telling a story. It’s remembering something, splashing together lost histories. What does froth murmur?
The Atlantic is childhood.
The Pacific is youth.