I. Pando, Quaking I chase the words through labyrinths that open out (almost imperceptibly) into forests then plains then oceans then sky and sometimes it’s so hard to say - but there is constant music in buildings then plains then oceans then sky compelling sounds (even in silence, so many sounds) all the way around us it’s never truly silent (I think that’s what death is and I can’t bear to think of that silence while I’m still alive) this is the source of the river this is where the water comes from no matter how the land shifts in its sleep this place will stay the same (so we wander and meander through lush night-time) trees so overgrown with teddybearfruit, starcluster fruit, and thick glass jars of lazy foxlight that we have to duck they hang so low and complicate our path and obscure our view and winding up and down our way through opens and shifts and kisses us hello and runs away with hands full and handfuls of birds (hello!) at play in the fields of our lord (whoever she is) we are falling in love and dealing in waves and walls that (most perceptibly) recede when we want them to (and where we want them, too) and it’s all for fun and there’s no end think of it: the warmth of sunlight captured on film electric feline stripes, train cars and cathedralspace humming inside of drums spring (and summer) uncoiled, but winter just starting to compress (we wait for blizzards to pitter-panther-pounce) ahaaaa we open our mouths and out comes the roar of starlight I exhale and whisper your name, and silver nitrate particles dance forever on tiny paper windowpanes you step into the frame and sing my name and those syllables will be smiling at me (at least) until I’m gone (and it’s already been so long since you sang that song) repeated viewings the horizon rises and falls like the chest of a sleeping baby and the moon looks biggest when it’s close to her heart but it’s all a trick of perspective those electrons are so far away (sewing night and sky together so fast) that we’ll never get to touch them (whoever she is) or ask if they have names or know it when we’re finally burned up by the sun vulpine: the river ribbons so inky dark across this land that it must surely stain rocks and easels and little hands so we’ll farm strawberries and violet shadows and we’ll grow thirsty and find out for ourselves I’ll dip my finger in that river (or touch so lightly your chest and face and limbs) and write down everything I can remember every day (all the time eats all the time) and honestly, I can’t tell the difference between what’s precious and sacred and what’s not, anymore but I know I was usually wrong when I thought I could, before I don’t want this feeling to be forgotten and I don’t want to leave this land made mostly of memories so we’ll pile stones and build fires and try to reason with the storms as they roll across the plains (strawberries, strawberries, strawberries, strawberries) trembling giant quaking glacier a continent’s song plucked so gently on a piano’s heart’s strings I hope so much that there is no end (clouds and seasons - though plentiful - move too quickly as they roll across the plains but the mountains - kissed on every side by time and wind - will be here long enough for our purposes)

II. Safe Harbor for Seafarers see that sliver of late red light? the clouds and trees and city work tirelessly to form a prism and we watch the red-shift in real time as the land rises to block the sun and give rest to retinas and leaves o, perfect watchmakers! o, sleepy observers! record with astronomical precision the sounds and dimensions of the ceaseless surf on hallowed shores we are safe, we are nestled: between slow Appalachia, bathtubs left by glaciers, Cretaceous seabeds and a blanket of oxygen, nitrogen and cirrus vapor I walk well-loved paths with my sister and brother we hope for wind, snow, babies and centuries we are trees in each other’s churches someday we’ll leave footprints in volcanic ash and in interglacial snow our delicate, intricate signatures in sacred text lasting seconds or eons asserting our permanence in proper, cosmic terms