Imagine a long train, every coach a dining car. Imagine the sparks firing up each cell of its engines. Imagine a pole strung with clear, red- orange lanterns. Every thing's a mouth, every mouth's bobbin or an appetite. O bell-shaped medusae ringing through the ocean night: would I forget my place in this domino-scatter of work and desire? Only a hot plumb line cuts through our pronouns: I, you, we, us. Each polyp's colony can't exist except in the blur with others.