WEBVTT

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A little poem I consider
a charm for myself,

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so I call it Trinket.

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I love watching the water ooze
through the crack in the fern

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pot.

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It's a small thing that slows
time and steadies, and gives me

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ideas of becoming, having
nothing to do with ambition

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or even reaching.

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It isn't necessary
at such times.

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To describe this, it's no
image for mean-keeping.

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It's no thing that small.

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But presence.

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Other men look at the
ocean, and I do too.

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Though it is too many
presences for any to absorb.

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It's this other.

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A little water used,
appearing slowly

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around the sounds of oxygen
and small frictions, that

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gives the self the
notion of the self one

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is always losing, until these
tiny embodiments small enough

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to contain it.

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