7.3.2021* (lake merritt with zach and geese) (*2023)

Lone goose. Proud goose. Tall goose. Sand goose.
What is the name your mother calls you?
What is the name you call yourself?


"I want to remove as much of me from these objects as possible. I want them to enter some shared language."

7.1.2023 (on zach's porch in rockridge oakland)

No one shows such a knowledge of God as he who says one can know nobody.

The stomach is hollowed to make room. The mind is hollowed to make room. The abdominal cavity is hollowed to make — to make room — for — what? For what?

The stomach is hollowed to make room for the stomach.

There must be more to watching a man than to watch him read. There must be more... There must be more to fill the stomach. There must be more to fill the mind. There must be more... If not, I hollowed out my abdominal cavity for what ???

We stood waiting on the eastern shore. The boat hovered between here and there, as so many boats do, so much of the time. He lay on his back — there is something so exposed about sleeping on your back — and around him were arranged the treasures of a life lived. Jeweled scabbards. Gold hilts. Mostly if not entirely accurate tax forms. Crumpled CVS receipts. Rustic teacups with questionably food-safe glazes. A perfectly proportioned metal mixing bowl. A cloak woven from cloth-of-gold, emblazoned with the family crest. An L.L. Bean backpack, monogrammed.

We pushed the boat out and watched him glide, ice-prowled, gold-sailed, towards eternity.