High-rise buildings stand for trees, wires strung within plastered walls for rings, electric outlets for knots. Now it's mainly a matter of prosthetics.   

"Nice haircut," I told the woman sitting in front of me on the bus. Not having a window, I followed each strand sliding over gray waves down to a ledge, where it clung to others in the perfumed air above the tall column of her neck.

Later that day, we met on the street—

"Did you see the geese?" she said. "Were they flying south?" I asked.
"They were flying west." 

In New Mexico, every autumn a honking phalanx passed overhead, flying south. This far north, I would think...but geese don't think; they navigate. From this point on, complexity is a pole for contemplation. 


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