In our craft a boat is built. Around us which carries us home. On a cradle floating down the river. Coursing through the thicket of our hearts. Pounding in unison at the door of our song. Escaping between the bars of a cage. Fashioned of pure molten nickel iron. Spun into the flowering gravity bound well. Beyond our electromagnetic capacity to resist. When I lower my eyelids. Down here in the basement. Shutting out this city neighbor. Hood I can begin to hear the wind.

Dark Side of the Wild by Shaun Lawton. Our own brains are canned in bone. We rarely think of this when left alone. With three times as many appendages. We dared our hold on history. We crossed the gap arriving. For air from the shore. At the cellular level aware. Only a sort of static balance. An entire world exists outside our thought.