We bob and flow
on the raft and we know
this object should sink.
Below us, there are probably
hungry mouths, sharp teeth,
or an endless nothing.
But we are surviving
against the wind and wares
of language and thought,
looking for a sooner shore.
Here are your ulls
the old lady tells me, which reminds
me of the lady who sold me
a scorpion ring for five dollars.
It was overpriced. Which reminds
me of the old veteran who sold
me a skull and crossbones hat pin.
Which makes me wonder why
I wanted so many objects as a child,
makes me wonder what my material
obsession is all about.
There is a theoretical substance
at the heart of combustion.
Maybe it was thought to have
a blue shade or to be invisible.
It releases at the moment of spark.
Creativity, myth, and legend.
Gods and goddesses.
Of course it is just a story.
Like you and me and the rest of us.