Story

A sunspot, at first a floating dart, it grew
a pair of ears. In water
it replaced the water until it filled the jar.

I was its diminishment.
It smiled like a melon: I lived
on the doughnut rungs laddering

its wrists. Too soon
too big for its britches, it takes that tone
& jabs up, waving its arms

while its jeans fall down. It flies from side streets
scaring pigeons & scooters.
It never sleeps

or else only sleeps with its feet on my back.
There are holes
in its alphabet, it can’t remember

the numbers between 12 & 16
but it’s working
on the question of God.

Meanwhile, it hates cheese. Won’t eat.
When it shows its teeth, I worry
it’s spoiled. I worry: too much,

not enough? When it clatters, starts to fall apart,
I set it on a stool with a spoon & a pot.
Let it ring & let the ringing be.