2 December 2002 | Vol. 2, No. 4

When the Story Opens

The ocean unfolds itself. The tongue stays put,

unreadable and needless.

We come to watch, speechless to the lake

where dragonflies dip their abdomens like brushes

to lay their eggs on the reed stalks

painting the future in small daubs.

When the story opens, a door closes. You are called

to attention, to more particular and the ocean named for it,

Atlantic and Specific.

At night we are the Janus sleepers

watching b