Puddles in New Amsterdam and Pavonia 1641

Every puddle is skipped. No you can't wake up. Skip. The black bear with lonesome paws said skip, play the fool, and when you leap clear, your feet hit, and the brown spotted little cubs behind find their own wagging space so help me.

I watched my mother murdered in 1598. I was seven. In thirteen years I would live in New Netherland happy as a lark setting said from Bristol, and me captn, a great teasing oaf, but smart with the stars. We talk about stars. I didn't know then my future child would grovel over the telescope in 1620. He would study the pieces of physics as he was outside. The rain was cold. It was more snow. It was frozen. I am a cave with old rocks driven away in pieces. I dream of bears too, and women with smooth skin and a smooth hairless pubis as mine is without hair, and two I reach, yes, two as in sequence for my mate from thirty years ago as she tumbles in my bed reaching for the bathroom door, as the sound of piss wakes me, and then i dream of her falling back down and sleeping but taking my hand in hers, as if that physical smile would satisfy and I suppose I was a strange man living in the 1960s when I was born in 1591 and I have assumed the life (with him present) of a boy born in 1943. The bear walks in the garden and remembers how his mother would nurse him. He remembers the (…) tag. The man holds the not named woman's hand and is content, (…) and he hears what he thinks a good sign, can you wait dear, when i wake we can, and then her sleep carries her to some unnamed dream.

I met the artist last year when we were younger than old and she was drawing my mouth and when she moved the chalk my jaw assumed her sight. She changed me by her act of art. I loved it. It reminded me of the girl holding my hand and asking for patience, and I did, and she and I spent the rest of the day in central park and even made love in one special corner near the zoo, as we didn't care who watched and when she came, louder than the wind through the streets and canals of Amsterdam, the lady held me aloft and I felt her innocence too.