Vessel, Cargo, Atom, Planet
These words came in longships and in barques, they were dragged over logs, carted among wines, olives, and figs, bundled up and slung across the backs of soldiers and cradled by the hands of children.
These words carry the atoms which fled Democritus’ lungs and the photons that lit the visions of Horace. Within their inflection, there is the curve of a bison’s flank, the curve of the walls of the earth.
These words were quarried in Istria, felled in Palearctic forests, picked from Lydian vines, and harvested from wheatfields that drink from the Elbe.
Sometimes a sword is unearthed. Half consumed by the mud, its blade rusted away, of no use in any hand. Still, it is proudly displayed, its survival is seen as a thing of wonder.
Yet the words that traveled with that sword and spilled out of its scabbard retain the power to cut creation into the smallest pieces.
To be carried, to carry, to dismantle, to compose.