when time traveling, the small boy said to his great great great
grandfather, from my bedroom
you can see the head of the great giraffe
that prides his paddock,
and hear the bleat of elephants
and rhinos in the zoo across the field.
his great great great
grandfather nodded and pointed out to the where Atlantic rollers
curled, curled, curled,
the end of the world is Black Narrows,
the scope of the sky,
the stretching shacks that keep one toe
in the mud, and the other dry.
my room is in the kitchen
and I sleep by the stove,
and when i stare down between the planks
i can see hermit crabs
and the tiny skulls of mollusks, he replied.
they regarded each other, and finally shared a pipe
which had been brought especially for the occasion.
the small boy and his great great great grandfather
watched scows of clouds, a blue so pure, ocean spume white as bone.
