I named all my cities for you in this play of civilization,
What You Can’t Know (or How Millennia Collapse to Seconds).
I drove to St. Simons & ate dinner at the same table,
but not the same meal. Oceans feed tears to oysters—
little tombs of mouth & foot. I knelt in the morning tide.
& walked from the King & Prince to the lighthouse,
my ears full of mnemonic song. Even still we fall
through horizon, not unlike a tunnel. Our universe expands
like a black balloon, each life on the bow of its curve.
Dimensions intertwine. The world is full in every space.
A broken nautilus unhands the sequence, subsumes
with sand. Form is just a bottle, but what if we are each other’s—
defined by what we fill or what fills us? Unstable rock, tectonic,
what city will rest on you?