Children's Center
I remember the feeling of rice at the rice table
The fine white dust
I was never satisfied
Maybe a bottomless table would have been enough
The better to plunge my hands
One worries about children drowning
I have heard stories of accidents in silos
People like to use silos to say we are alone
Some children would grab your arm and in a dead voice say
why are you hitting yourself
They were tuned into a station
I wanted the rice to not stick to my hands
I wanted to be the sound of the rice falling down
It was an old sound
You could find a red plastic word like positivity buried in the rice
It was the wrong shape
The right shape was hands but the problem was sweat
They asked me why I had not gone outside with the others
I could not find the words to explain
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SKELLIG MICHAEL
is an island you can take a boat to but where you cannot ever spend the night
Something must be like this other than the island, some mossy sensation
An island where therefore rarely does a human sleep other than a visiting baby
A baby strapped to the body of a visitor climbing the ancient stairs
How does an island run on so little sleep
Is not sleep what keeps the island from falling into the sea
The sleep of a thousand puffins knits the island into place
At home in New Hampshire the man's face fell off the mountain
They tried to strap it on, they didn't know about the sleep
How many monks when monks lived on the island fell from the stairs into the sea
The island we are thinking of had a whole history before Luke Skywalker moved in
He's not allowed to sleep there, he's not like some moss
I tried to find the island and it autocompleted star wars is ruined
No one has told the puffins, the puffins don't care
From above they are dark like the sea, from below bright like the sky
When a puffin wants to make a joke it pretends to be a Jedi climbing the stairs
The moss has not stopped laughing for one thousand years
