The agreement is similar
to a movie deal, without
consent or instructions.
Morovitz says Janus-faced
bubbles. Rothko’s
glowing rectangles
mean wall labels are
probably not a way
to believe. Is
there anything? “Hello,”
you say when you pick
up. Comets plummeting
into computer-generated
models are different.
Billions of years to
arrive at depression,
all this space-garbage
cluttering my desk,
my computer terminal.
It’s probably the same
in Finland. Mimic
life, anyway. You
say. Cosmic snow-
flakes falling in
my woodcut, of the
Floating World, a
Dow lab. The Tao
is the cool draft
of air in my hall-
way and I dreamt
they carbon-dated
my pencil to find
I was a sunny and
articulate anachronism
from days when the
earth mostly didn’t
do anything, and
where I would be
most at home.