Friday, February 21, 2003

I could talk to you about everybody else I know. And how they keep my sanity locked in their long-distance calls and rare words. And the things they hold and the words I hide.

I watched his hands hammer away at the chinks. I saw the infinite genius in his fingers, steering a solution through wood and metal. And then the glass and scotch-tape and water and gravel. And then the fish. Big sea, many fish, limited life-span. All we’re left with is a tank.

And I wanted to shrink into the ledge above the water level and dangle tiny toes above their noses. And watch the bubbles float up to the surface and burst into air. And stay there. And never have to put my head under water.