Here more than anywhere else,
the need for scale and introspection.
But I cannot stress how important it is
not to think we are dealing with fake interiors.
That is not craft-store bought plush, that
is a base of real and permeable material.
A sponge is a living thing and has heard symphonies
punctuated by the mating call of whales.
Sediment is not one thing but a plurality;
think of it as a constellation of the once-felt.
I need only a small indentation, a hill loved
by a small red plastic trowel; in this circle
ringed by clear acrylic, droplets of fern hear
what I cannot say. Everything else condenses.