Under its glass lid, the square
of cheese is like any other element
of the imagination—cough in the tugboat,
muff summering somewhere in mothballs.
Have a humbug. The world is slow
to dissolve & leave us. Is it your
hermeneut’s helmet not letting me
filter through? The submarine sinks
with a purpose: Scientist Inside
Engineering A Shell. & meanwhile
I am not well. Don’t know how to go on
Oprah without ya. On t.v, a documentary
about bees—yet another box in a box.
The present is in there somewhere.
--Matthea Harvey
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