Cellular grandfather, pity me: once it was understood
how things were done, how the boiling ferns invited the
glaciers to come, how the dinosaurs asked to die. Os-
cillation: The world was born in swing and sway, and I,
fasting slowly, am not random nor mad, but large, and
more precise than you. My blood makes air and cells;
my moon subtends the sky; my tides squeeze life out of
rock. All my night journeys find a sun; I leave orchards
and olives behind.


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