was an everywhere, was one little room — an atom blown open
into an infinite net
with us always
at its center.
a while the sun was our bellwether,
then it was sequences
of clouds, then a sparrow’s wing arrowing
east across a field, propelled
toward infinity without ever reaching it.
We were lost, cast
like chaff into an undefined wind.
We spun in
circles through empty lozenges of farmland, spellbound
and blur-eyed as the grass rose
like a wall before our
hands again and again, uniform in every direction, margin-
We spun until we felt our blood pull, centripetal,
into our cores, until we were an orbit, a ring tightening
into a tiny, incalculable frontier. Then set adrift, aloft,
a molecule of the wind’s howl; an owl’s afterfeather landing along-
side a wet field of foals; shells
quietly crumbling into their surrounding seas — always
less, loss.about the author