Exerpt from The Names of Things Above the tide line the sand is crusted over with glass, hard-surfaced and brittle like frosting sugar. It snaps into square panes of rock. Rocks flecked with electric blue-green with what became copper here wash down in the mountain floods. Walking in these hills I am looking at visual puns. I can see how readily the creatures translate, where translated long ago, into thought and use and language.
Words begin as description.
They are prismatic, vehicles of hidden, deeper shades of thought. You can hold them up at different angles until the light bursts through in an unexpected color. The word carries the living thing concealed across millennia. The crane belongs to the rain, and the stork belongs to the sea. Animals belong to their environments, are inseparable from the processes that draw them.