They say the past
is all in the past, but see
how densely
the present is stacked
on contingency—
what could it mean
to invoke fate
in this moment,
to witness certitude
or magic in the starlight
without knowing from experience
the chaos of explosion;
to hear truth
in the babbling
waters of a rock-strewn river
and forget to account
for glaciers'
dark impassivity?
The dizziest thought
could not fail to launch straight
from the steady scaffold
of anatomy: the imprints
of every hand I used to hold,
held lightly in my open hand.
