Having the same cells
As skin
Akin to trees and floorboards
Creaking in tune
Because a tendril of smoke disappears
But becomes so many parts air
So many parts to remember
So many numbers to multiply
To get to the sixty seventh power of two
Minus one
Because out there lies a great road
An unanswered question
That you have forgotten
The bottom having dropped out before
And you now knowing that you're walking on air
And nothing can stop a Protozoa
But stillness
Because there are books that have burned
With your name in them
Not scribbled in a schoolgirl's cursive
But in bold typeface
Copperplate and straight
Rich dimples in stiffened pulp
all your joints aching
When your number was called
And it was a number you had never heard of before
Because silence is too much
A burden for some other grist
The next time through
All the buildings will have different names on them
Different letters
Different languages
But the same boldface promise
To be stronger than what is unknown
More firm and less loosey-goosey
More nose and character
Less marbles and swirls
Because trust is not sinewy
Because stems can hold their mass
Because triangles are magic
And seeds are carried by lesser structures
--
12.20.11
