And the puzzles surrounding the cosmological constant,

spacetime imploded into existence. Ten to fifty years

between asbestos breathed and mesothelioma

discovered, a rare form of cancer in the lungs

or heart, or, if in the stomach, spreading

quickly to the liver or spleen. Uploaded

onto one of a half-a-billion or so blogs: “The human

imagination? A relatively paltry thing, a sub-product,

merely, of the neural activity of a species

of terrestrial primate”; and in another, that other

dimension, the Hudson River, black and still,

the day about to open at the Narrows’ edge.

Light on a mountain ash bough, a fresh chill’s

blue sensation felt in the eyes. One week buds, then

the temperature’s up and the landscape turns yellow,

in a few days the wind scratches the blossoms,

in a few weeks the sun scorches the leaves…

I, too, see God adumbrations, I, too, write

a book on love. Who, here, appears, to touch the skin.

Hundreds of thousands of square miles of lost

Arctic sea ice, bits of bones on killing grounds,

electromagnetic air. Atrocious and bottomless

states of mind, natural as air...