Ren Powell >
A Trip to the Orient
Setting up fences to contain the mania that comes every fall. Walking the perimeter. Had a question for you yesterday, but realized as I walked around Breivatnet for the second time that I had had too much wine that night to remember your studio door. I remember the hedgehog in the taxi's headlights, waddling naked past my front gate when I got home—thinking that I hadn't even tasted what was offered, wondering if that really was a virtue. (Because I have so few, I collect them like art.) Relishing the seldom high tide of wanting. But in all the remembering, I forgot the question and went to the quay instead and watched the fish jumping. No one else seemed to notice, walking in pairs (it was Friday night) and I was glad to be alone.
even as I watched the sun wolves gathering