~ after Remedios Varo, "Tiforal" (1947) In this calcified Eden, it's still possible to recognize shapes from a time when you freely named things in the world. Arches and discs still glow with the milky sheen of untroubled intermissions. Among these silver-grey terminals, a turbaned neurosurgeon sits in the mahogany-paneled dark of his office, tenting his fingers. I am trying to remember what he said about the complexity of pathways, about the root and the sheath and the vein. Radiant: a burst of heat or light emitted from a center. But also, how spokes of them might be delivered to a place where all beams meet. See how the tongues of leaves bend in one direction; how silhouettes distill the teeth and hair-combs of lightning. The underlying mechanism for wings; the points of beaks, a crown for starfish. Pilgrim, you walk this stretch carrying only your drinking cup. Do you remember learning water from pure hammered copper always tastes colder in the mouth? A body registers the force of any shock, well beyond the first encounter.