a concatenation of molecules
not one of which knows anything beyond its
molecular connectivity
that is to say rock
doesn’t know its measure — breadth, width
or weight — or its place, much less its traverse
via earthquake, volcano, glacier
or moving plates
history seen & hammered
& cored & interpreted, but not known
the lean of a tree, the curve of a shore
what appears in every instant to be a
line is the nothing nature has to say
curl of a wave, puff of a cloud — what
science claims to explain, the latest
take on what Newton began, believe
it if you need something to believe, but
it’s no more true than a wishing well
wanting to know doesn’t mean knowing
housed in my cellar submarine
oil-breathing pink-&-purple jellies
balloon & deflate in freshly delivered
fuel — oil mists, a spark flares
red-tinged explosions at every grate —
trapped in their dark fragrant vehicle
the jellies fail to acknowledge human
fate, all the better to genuflect & swan
plie, arabesque, when jellies copulate
tentacles entwine, male mouths spray
females inhale, half-digested sperm
swarm over eggs, replication ensues
no wonder the room grows warm
1931, a year too young for Yale
he was sent for a finishing year abroad
we read the letters he wrote to his mother
& jottings in his day book — HitlerJugend
marching every afternoon, weekend
outings with Werner, Friedrich, Birgit, Uta
frolicking nights of Wurst und Bier —
his sister Alice said, he came back changed
1941, a new uniform, Navy lieutenant
the freshly minted MD shipped off to war
our mother described his nightmares
how she would shake, wake him, silence
his screams
he beat us for being what
he didn’t want, Heil Hitler, damn his eyes
mountain reduced to a hill
trail engineered in rectangular stones
paved roads for let’s-not-walk-ers
highest branches gold-leafed in winter sun
ill-conceived papering over
legitimate truths the land retains
original structure waits
on humanity’s fall
long hibernating roots quiver to rise
instar & eft turkey & hawk
hare skunk moose deer fox bear weasel
people the archived slopes
trails gutter paved roads breach
mountain of glacial rock graven stone
I am not the image I see in the mirror, I am
the person I live with inside my body
inside my head, a person I know
better than I know the world I walk through
she is an it once dressed in costumes
sewn for a mincing simpering doll
she broke the mirror, junked the mask
burst through the curtain shouting I don’t
know what I am except that I am not
what you ordered, what is I is not what
was asked for, what is I exists apart
from anything & anyone I've met
some find a place in the world, I fail to
imagine what such a place might be
apart then, apart now, by myself always
will not be, not then, not now, not ever
never obsess over hair or clothes or pimples
or whether he’s liked or how to disappear
instead he spends half the morning in my lap
& all night pressed up against me in my bed
you might as well say our bed since I’m never
in it without him, except for brief forays
to eat or wrestle with the other cat
or investigate a sudden noise (might be
a mouse), if I stroke him in the night
he slithers up to my face, opens his salmon-
scented mouth & purrs with a sound
like a broken water pump, kneads my neck
with sharp claws, he knows he’s perfect
even without algebra, a foreign language
& an intramural sport, for the hour before
climbing into my lap each morning
he roams the house crying for everything
he doesn’t have (good grades, better
parents, a girl friend, spending money)
I scratch his ears, offer him food, tell him
just wait, someday you’ll be old like me
then you’ll have something to complain about
