Originally published in After Hours, Issue No. 28, Winter 2014.
What tools will I need to fix these bicycle tires or the inside guts of fans that rattle too much like bars of a cage? I want to listen, but there is the pace of our chatter, a tiger in a 1970s Pittsburgh zoo long before we pretended natural landscapes box up animal desires. The wheel wobbles and sets a clacking beat. What is worth maintaining if not the element of pi, the infinite made finite in the rotation toward a covered bridge? On the other side, a lone Scottish Highland yak sleeps in the shade in the land of dairy cattle and sulky horses, my great-grandparents farmhouse crumbling right there on this side of the creek.