I can be inarticulate when I'm vested, verbally

material has history.  

glass from Julie's storage on the eastside of Detroit 
turtle shell from the beach at Mason Neck State Park, Virginia, carried where I sunk and suctioned into the mud up to the knee and Manal had to pull me out
coral from the beaches of Cancún where I swam with my sisters, which was not where I lived, but still felt like holding on to the Mexico I never wanted to leave
a pregnant sigh, named, by Six, in a cafe called after a body of water in New Orleans 
eucalyptus from Eastern Market on a hailing, raining, morning spent with Cy, musing
a surprise feather, rooster, in the parking lot of a bar in Hazel Park, working a late night

permanence is an illusion, desire toward it is fear
that believes itself intelligence