electric effluvia on the surface and circumference of two coins   Étienne-Léopold Trouvelot ca. 1888 printing-out paper print

BROUGHT TO LIGHT

     for Alan Wick

1.

The new physics: when

was it first minted, the story

and its arc?

2.

When a bit of the everyday

was laid down

before the aperture of the sun,

and brought to light in 1888,

a currency hitherto

unseen: halos and

sparks,

living invisibly within

the betwixt and the between,

faceless

yet tender,

bright as new stars.

3.

Electromagnetism: the discovery

of the day, captured without camera,

on light sensitive paper—

an intimate frontier,

where science and photography met

for the first time, bridging the gap

with a flash,

a blaze across a void,

a branching.

4.

Étienne-Léopold Trouvelot fled

with his family from France in 1852,

avoiding one coup d'etat

to wage his own risky experiment

in Medford, Massachusetts. A stroke

of genius took hold

of this amateur entomologist

and told him he could save

that shimmering filament—

silk—and the burgeoning

industry that was spreading

with great speed in the West,

by cross-breeding one dying moth species

with the resilience and fiery spirit

of another. In his backyard,

on an oak branch, he cultivated, in secret,

the eggs of the Gypsy Moth, whose larvae,

to his surprise, escaped into

the nearby woods.  He notified the authorities

but nothing was done to prevent

the infestation that ensued.

5.

Later this man turned his gaze

from larvae to stars,

to astronomy, to the heavens—

and in seeing the pulse

and magnetic dance of the Northern Lights

fell in love with auroras—

and from an intimate place

within himself went

on to render and capture

in lithographs and photography,

the shape and form of celestial bodies,

their light, their effluvial line.

6.

To this day this man of passion and innovation,

who helped to forge a new science,

is remembered more for the escape

the Gypsy Moth made into North America,

that persists to this day,

than for what he captured in 1888,

by simply setting two ordinary coins

down opposite each other

on a single piece of paper.

7.

This is our portrait also

more than a century later.

We are gypsy spirits,

instars escaping,

into the unknown,

an invisible frontier,

rebelling

against containment,

with so much to say.

We are twin beings,

true light

upon true light,

begotten and betrothed,

one from and to

the other: a love

like a physics, invented

and remembered, at once

and once again.

GRATITUDE SANDWICH

For the grill lines on the country bread 
that calms me.

For the buzz and hum that plays 
behind the background music 
in the sandwich shop.

For the patron who tilts her head while talking 
on her iPhone,

and the one who hides inside her kinky red hair,

and the one with the thick mascara,

and the one who empties his pockets on the table 
like confessions.

For the romesco, the red onion, and the aged chedder 
that mix with the blackened flank steak in my mouth.

For the bustle beyond the windows, the glint

of the buses, the buckles, and the wheelchair wheels.

For the gestures, the smiles, the eyebrows, the bangs 
and the cleavage, the big white teeth inside.

The salad made of corn, garlic, spinach-pesto 
puree and pepper dangling from my fork.

For the algorithm of the empty tables and chairs.

For the crumpled cellophane on a plate 
filled with crumbs.

For the leather and polyester, the cotton and silk

worn by so many different bodies and nationalities.

The polka dots and paisleys, the swirls and florals,

the blacks and greens.

For the shadows of the gulls 
on the building across the street.

For the salt on the tongue from the chips 

and the texture of the white paper napkin

that brushes across my fingertips like Braille.

For the nod from the man who sits next to me
wearing headphones and typing into his computer.

For the large red apostrophe 
on the server's work-shirt.

For the coffee yet to come. 
The bitter and the sweet.

For this last bite. The crust.
This moment and nothing more.

THE FUNDAMENT

I carry it with me

where ever I go

not knowing when 

I might need it next.

I carry it in my pocket

like a key

an oath

a lozenge

a ticket

a thought.

I have one for almost every occasion.

For when I order my IPA,

when I speak with my mother on Sundays,

and when I curse the neighbor next door.

And it is with me even now,

as I rest my bum on this park bench

convinced the world coheres because of me.

Because the pigeons at my feet

are like predicates eating bread crumbs 

straight from my trembling hands.