i spoke to Zach about building shelving and counter with wood, he, telling me, “the moisture content of the wood will help determine what can be built”

earlier i read a poem
by Charles Wright.
i am now unable to
find it, to mine it
for quote. something,
something about…
even that escapes me,
even paraphrase
is out of my reach.
a brain, scrambled,
despite all the lion’s mane,
ginkgo, gotu kola. maybe
i am just hungry,
thinking of eggs. always,
it seems, always
i am hungry.
i went into a bookstore
earlier, no, that was not
were i read the Charles Wright.
i went into the bookstore
looking for a bar of dark
chocolate flecked with salt.
they did not have this bar,
so i could not buy it.
instead, i made small talk
with people who smiled
with their eyes, some
of them, walked out
with 6 pieces of dark
chocolate caramel, yes,
flecked with salt,
and fumbled awkwardly
with my bag as i tried
to put them away.

two days ago i was in
nakwasina sound
with Andrew.
he caught a couple of
humpys to use as bait
for his halibut skate.
he catches fish
with a skill that always leaves me
baffled. i used to make
mild fun of him,
when we were teenagers,
for the obsessiveness
of his fishing. now,
i am baffled, awed
by his quiet skill.
he tells me, hands
clad in orange rubber
and blood, “there are lots
of pinks this year, but
they are all small,
averaging near a pound
less than normal.
i used to catch two
to bait 15 hooks, now
i have to catch 3”.
i stood there, fumbled
awkwardly with my hands,
pink and dry and
clean, with no where
to put them. he
didn’t mock me even mildly
for my ineptitude.

often times
i’d rather tell a joke,
have a laugh,
not take things
too seriously.
though here i am,
anywhere, bleeding
all over this
keyboard. my hands,
fumbling awkwardly,
trying to catch the words.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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