OK, so Kristian is a friend. We did meet somewhere, but memory fails me. She is published by Swimming with Elephants, and wandering poems epic cataclysms of molten explosions, star twists and extravaganzas. She’s quite persistent on the topic that minimizes our personal angst into mere specks, blips on the eyeballs of galaxies. Wanderer I’ve been trying to figure the way the world was built. The way tectonics equal breath— In that same way of nebulae and volcanoes pass among us into elemental ocean— as even as of picking up starfish in the surf, as sifting through stones in mountains. Pangea, Rodinia, Laurasia, Atlantis are names of infinite movement and once they’ve released their seismic shudders the plates mantle-warm breathe Jade—tectonic scarring—silty snake and ocean veined. Once a stranger told me that the Grand Canyon grows one centimeter each year—or crumbles— and that of Guatemala is in California, and he’s probably wrong, but “I know the world is moving,” he says and tells me the snowy plateau of the Rockies is of the Pacific subterranean which forced herself up through the crust to become a continental core. I’ve […]