Continuous stream in perpetual motion,
no levees until we build. The mind wants
a fixed pattern, some mollusk shell against
the swell. So, we make and remake ourselves,
these others, our tools these numbers,
tests, images, sounds, scents, records
like Remember this. Color me a Milky Way
in turquoise, violet, rust, crimson tides of
possibility, a membrane across
these newborn eyes.
