[mosaic] [With Bashō in It and a Reef or Two]

Parkinson’s 2021 / Brooklyn 2008

I wish haiku were circuit breaker so I could set Bashō
in that gap in the brain where dopamine dies //
the poem with deer hair it—they’re hollow they float //
the hair I mean—the poem is simply lure—so eyes are on—
and my friend can dive reefs again as if he were laying
ocean cable—human voltage—little fish big in the mask—
cobalt and screaming yellow // like that steampunk time
in Brooklyn when I stood before the Telectroscope
and saw a street in London—many people—it was late—

looking back // and nothing happened for awhile //
we were hands in pockets shuffling // but then something
moved—a shimmy and swipe // it seemed like dance //
and then another—more slowly—and then another—and
then a child—dressed for chill—leaned in— blew a kiss //
a flesh fin riding broadband // riding this reef—this living
reef—throwing kisses—many kisses—as if startled by 
sunlight

Dennis Hinrichsen is the author of “schema geometrica.” From 2017-2019, he served as the inaugural poet laureate of the Greater Lansing area.

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