1 the actual world is not an imaginary friend. the moon in the sky is farther out than we can conceive but we can imagine what we imagine without end.
we can walk to the foamy line where the surf runs up the sand and see the curve of our mother's side - the old wine-dark sea.
and then after swimming in rosario strait - the taste of salt on her skin - her salt-dried hair: these mysterious traces. i could show you a photo of the day.
2 still we have a heavy heart - our errors and arrogance that cost lives - this empire of small shovels and pails.
wind through leaves or my grandmother's bones - the ache is real. who doesn't dread the piercing wound - gutshot and too strong to be found?
hunter says you walk following blood. says eat when you can. with teeth and talons on painted barn doors writes, free them.