These boys who love their mother
who loves men, who passes on
her sons to other women;
The cloud across the sky. The windy pines.
The trickle gurgle in the swampy meadow
this is our body.
– from “The Bath” by Gary Snyder
Livy walked to the desk in the corner and looked over Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan wrote:
Family in the East
“Paradise” to the West.
North is not a choice to consider.
Weight, balance, weighing, balancing, quiet.
Too many doors in a room. Too many doors leading into and out of a room. You can either wait patiently, hoping something will appear in a doorway and follow it, choose one and go, and never come back, or seal off those that are less enticing, or all of them, and be happy with the room you find yourself in.
This room, their living room, could be best described as belonging to the “poetic aesthetic,” or the base camp for a National Geographer; patterns and prints mixed in an eclectic manner, an antique here, a borrowed table there, nothing quite thread-bare but also nothing quite new. But somehow, when arranged as an unlikely set, and with the addition of something colorful on every flat surface and almost every wall, it was like warm clothing against the cold in winter and refreshing and restful in the humid, cornhot days of summer.
Morgan’s answer and source of direction had finally come. From the island he’d left 4 years ago, he was contacted by Miko. His friend planned to begin publishing a magazine devoted to the publication of ocean-related fiction and he wanted Morgan to be its editor or at the very least for Morgan to write the introduction to the premier issue; did he have any ideas about art for the cover?