a world where stars live in the ocean
those are the boundaries of his Possible
where blue and blue meet
in boundless bardo
and just when I saw it taking shape in the distance
his 4-year old finger points out that it is neither framed nor contained
but a confluence.
“mom, look at the stars in the ocean”
what stars mean to him, I have trouble remembering
and what stars mean to me…
just another story called science.
something passed around by edition,
instead of by campfire,
What is truly the distinction, the distance,
between that above the horizon,
one a reflection of light.
the other a reflection of light.
one a perception.
the other perceived.
one white-capped water.
the other white-capped drops of water.
one the filtering of color through atmosphere.
the other the filtering of color through water.
till they meet together,
in blue meets blue
(Sometimes motherhood leaves you with nothing but chicken-scratch sentences. But I’m trying to write like I take deep breaths during the day. That’s my legal disclaimer for the next 40-days of chicken-scratch where I’m meant to be on professional sabbatical but am quite technically still the mother of a 4-year old and 1-year old who has only the hour before sunrise and the lucky chance of a synchronized nap).1