Trio No. 7

1.

I cannot change the way a tree watches me walking by. She does not know that I too have immovable roots.

I cannot change the way a frog analyzes my breath. He does not know that I too began my life in water.

I cannot control the jealous desire of a stone that I too be dead and cold and lifeless. She does not realize that I am her father, mother, wife, brother, friend.

2.

One, two, three

One, two, three

One, two, three

Think.

One, two, three

One, two, three

One, two, three

Blink.

One, two, three

One, two, three

One, two, three

Sink.

3.

A list of objects and compound objects:

An atlas of the United States east coast.

The shoulder blade of a seagull.

A sleeping bag, used each night.

The wet sneakers of a hitchhiker.

A turtle, slowly crossing a busy road.

A gallon of spring water.

The bright green jerseys of a little-league baseball team.

The shadow of the back wall of a drug store.

The locker rooms at Kent State University.

Yellow lines in a parking lot in Indianapolis during a thunderstorm.

The surging waves of Lake Ontario in a stiff wind.

A baguette.

A caesar salad in Galena, Illinois.

The empty buildings of a nameless town in Iowa.

The storm clouds receding over the hills after a tornado.

The window of the penny candy store in Strawberry Point.

The cavern beneath the large tree in the state park.

The swan-shaped boat on the pond at the Vrindaban community in Moundsville.

The peacocks there, too.