Schoolchildren of the mid-Atlantic, frazil ice exists.
How does one say this in a small way?
The variations on cold, the cracked pomegranate, the soft belly:
I prefer life as a grove of introductions:
when one steps from one’s leather pants,
when one recognizes the galaxy.
Something happens between within and without.
Once, a boy greeted me a dozen times each morning.
Schoolchildren of the mid-Atlantic, the trick is remembering the varieties of hello.
The beautiful floor stained with beautiful juice.
If one has ever protected anyone, if one has ever liked to dance.
When using the word “beautiful,” the trick is remembering one’s first awareness
of dimensions, how length is not height is not width is not depth.