A picnic in the sequoias, light
filtered into planes, and the canopy
cut through. Fire raged in that place
one month ago. Since I’d been there,
I’d have to see it burning.
Nature of events to brush
against us like the leaves
of aspens brush against each
other in a grove full
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I remembered what it was like, knowing what you want to eat and then making it, forgetting about the ending in the middle, looking at the ocean for a long time without restlessness, or with restlessness not inhabiting the joints, sitting Indian style on a porch overlooking that water, smooth like good cake frosting. And then I experienced it, falling so deeply into the storyline, I laughed as soon as my character entered the picture, humming the theme music even when I’d told myself I wanted to be quiet by some freezing river and never talk to anyone again. And I thought, now is the right time to cut up your shirt.