how thin — the hours
away from my daughterI am preoccupied with faith,
its dangers and its solace,
as this snow falls, a drift
of fist-sized flakes that sift
from a dim sky, then change
to sleetish rain. An hour,
I’m told, for the average flake
to fall. This stone is filled
with galaxies; this child is held
with love. This earth is
baptized, not by god, but by
neutrinos. In dreams I am
stalked by elephants and dragons.
I put my hand to the wild
boar’s neck. I feel its pulse, its
coarse fur. Its eye on me.
EDITED because I suddenly realized that it is part of this renga. The first two lines (which I have just added) and much of the science in this poem come from conversation with Erin.
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