Over time perhaps it is possible to understand
a little more about things: how the archives fill
with scraps that began as shoestrings, notes
to oneself written on cafe napkins; soft cotton
or rags tamped around a box to make it fit inside
a larger box. And the quaint customs and manners
fanned out like a tarot deck— the smiling cherub
of the self peeling off his other face to hold aloft,
the bird of opportunity and the peacock
of avarice; the wedding in the garden
and the animal quickly gored, in spite,
by its thrown-off rider. Start your careful
peeling off at one corner of the ear, to see
the body’s teeming highway of arteries and veins.
Each one breathes differently: imperceptible flutter
of moth wings, audible susurrus of breakers in the morning.