It’s about planting; it’s about conversation of matter into matter, mattering into mattering.
So many creatures slide from / our gaze, little flames of meeting.
At the Edge of the Known World When Sarah and Bill gin-whispered their invitation, my starved groin growled. Back in the surf we kissed down to skin, plunge- riding the beach pink. Ribbed mussels swung in the splash tide, caves glistened, legs curled and straightened under night’s warm blanket. Look, there’s a seal, I said next morning, twisting to the rolled horizon. Oh, it’s a surfer—confusing them like hungry sharks at the edge of their known world. An honest and thorough writing can challenge those boundaries and walls that separate our public and private lives, it can reveal things that we might only tell a best friend, a lover, or no one at all. Boccacio The bocacio, a large-mouthed rockfish found along our Pacific coast, was not named after Giovanni Boccacio, a fourteenth-century Italian writer famous for the Decameron. Drop the c and dive deep from Florence kelp to an undulant octave of choral anchovy hovering above the grotto. Flushed, bigmouthed and bassy, you fin vino and piped liturgies between Santa Barbara’s oily legs, where …
No matter how quickly he moves, time / moves faster.
barback / have filled sinks with ice, the town is primping its diversions