dream of many small turtles,
multi-colored, the size of
half-dollars. Hold them delicately
between your fingers, as
though you are going to
get a manicure and
want to preserve the smooth
and the shine. Some of
these turtles are of undiscovered
species. Your friends
are unhelpful, they will
not take pictures, they are afraid
of holding them.

Waked in the wrinkled sheets
of sand, these small turtles
know they are
supposed to be leaving
their beaches by October,
and by November they've
swum to dream. For one
year they will float, swelling
in size off the brain and
off the waters of the year.

In the first
November rain: a
contracts-man tells it
like it is. Don't do business
with anyone that won't put
in writing. Don't talk
about hard subjects
when you're tired and hungry.
Avoid mechanized boats,
gulls, foxes, ravens. Wear the
ocean's warm coat with

So the symphony of firsts:
The turtles cry at
their first dawns.They catch
their first waves. Then
it is no longer firsts,
it is seconds and thirds,
and the call to collage
begins. See: barnacle here,
with this kelp. Postmodern
and fun, about contrasts,
juxtapositions, joy of

As the year grows
older, collage turns to
macaroni necklaces hanging
on Christmas trees, gifts
from the children. The hum of
winter and crack of spring
brings a newness
and the pull of the ancient
turtle question:
from what mind
were we born?