At any moment, one of us is liable
to meltdown. See: the rounded tower
in France with its blistered God Particle.
Fly. Now see: pre-dawn Brooklyn rainstorm.
If I could just keep my eyes closed, I tell myself,
but then my daughter says, Technically,
saying the same word twice makes a rhyme.
I try it on for size: paralyze, paralyze;
battre, battre; ardea, ardea. Is it better
to make love or sense, cake or babies?
Slippery dippery dock, oh this terrible clock—
May the body remember what the mind forgot.