How far will they swim, grappling outward for more?
and downward underwater, their filamentous fronds twist
Miles and miles of them diving and driving.
Eventually, they block sunlight from everything below
I often watched Frank Quattrone through the glass
talked to walls, his desk, wisterias and wild asters outside.
seams, always pressed. Sometimes he picked up the putter
he had putting the pocked ball into the machine over and over.
I wanted objects but not their shadows. I wanted a house
and weeds growing in all directions. What if what had