Solute

To dissolve some absolution

Always wants. An attempt to loosen the fibers that seemed to contain the riddle of becoming. From that bonebound island I thought I knew what I was and knowing only wants, dreamed that if I were only more, I might hold those skies, that ocean, and swell to blooming so I could let it all go into the living. I used to imagine you a landscape I might photograph in pieces to print on transparencies, hold the light of you up to your light to translate for you this wonder at your nearness. I remember where we stood above the sea holding hands up into sunset as if to catch whatever heavens might finally rain.

But what do you want, always?
What does Always want?
I am impatient to know.
Please speak slowly.

I lack fluency and miss the nuance of your most important phrases.


The phrase “bonebound island” comes from The Notebooks of Dylan Thomas.

Electricity and Magnitude

The knowing unknowing of stormy hearts.

The Doctor says, look at these images, notice the noise and chaos at the heart, the lacy kinks of energy, bubbling near the buzz at the center.

What’s buzzing?

A black hole with the mass of four billion suns. 

[                               ]

What are these glowing filaments around it? 

Each is a hundred light years across, the Doctor explains. Then leaves.

What does a body on this planet even make of a century of light years?

––rather, this body. I suspect cats already understand, along with whales.

In my case, there’s an instinct to set the idea aside, like I do with some mail I don’t intend to open. How about a cat’s eye nebula, or even the eye of Jupiter? Violent storm that it is, at least someone can point to it and say “there,” pretending to wear knowledge like a child playing dress-up in costume jewelry.

But there it is again, this veiled center, this electrical storm not unlike the beating of a heart, a sound we prefer to imagine as gentle and distant, a low murmur, like the now-dated images of galaxies as soft clouds of distant jewels and floating lights, swirling in slow motion like the mobile above an infant’s crib. 

***

Inspired by (and borrowing phrases from) this article in yesterday’s New York Times:  An Electrifying View of the Heart of the Milky Way

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