Flames and Storms
Giant thimble, cooperation colony,
or conglomerate of sack, of pelagic
Hundred thousands of zooids travel
in a gelatinous tunic.
Each negligible entity
Together: completely improbable.
Be tempted, glowing wonder.
They share tissue, a wardrobe and purpose, use
light as language.
The acinar cell, the astrocyte,
and goblet cell, each a distinct
They share tissue, a wardrobe and purpose,
use current as language.
Trillions of cells travel
in a follicled tunic, each negligible
entity merely micrometers, together:
utterly, utterly improbable
conglomerate of goosebump and shopping list.
Sucking and blowing propels
the lot of us forward, somewhat
jet propulsion engine, only with no gas
and no engine, sometimes with both.
Giant thimble, corporation colony,
or conglomerate of pelagic sea squirt.
Distinct tiny clones, we share
a wardrobe and purpose, use
vibration as language. Organic
cotton, polyester, the Great Pacific
Seven days before your mother died
just before dawn but still in dark
I lay on a frozen slope, the night ice
holding me like an alligator
cradles an infant over teeth, howling
with unforgivable pain.
For seven days I was inconsolable, my own mother
storming my flat a few days later, just past dawn, for fear
I had done something irreversible.
Just the way she stormed in that first morning you and I
had slept there, the same panicked vibration
distorting my name in her mouth. Does this mean
she knew of my shattering on the stiff snow
a year later? Does it mean I knew
of your losing, of the way it tore into the fear
that lives in your gut like a ticking clock? I still feel
teeth on my back, the clicking of a locked jaw.
Tell me, does it mean
you and I are kept
somewhere for good?