Choose
both. The tongue and the taste, the finger and the felt. The fret fired the wire and kept on going. Families share their talents, all talked out come morning. Humming, we are, we are. It’s in the air, isn’t it? Swallow wide and long with a little flip at the end. It shows in the eyes as a deeper blue, a deeper brown or green. The scent of cloves in your hand. How many bodies do you have at once? Standing at the door at dawn, send them out to collect a shine. At night a shiny dark. To do everything means to know very little, says the clockmaker with his timepiece dangling from his eyeglasses. I love his tiny hammer and nails, the way he wears a magnifier over his already magnified eyes. Let us sail out on the blue-green sea, with a hamper of apples and a dog named Lola. She will only bark at the flying fish as they wing through the air, unappeased by water alone. We will gather the light off the ocean, the particles and waves, neutrons and electrons, and take them home dispersed in vials made of air.
