Sine Wave in Calm and Storm

for Robert Weldon Hunt

What calculus is inherited from father. What algorithm
foretells the snowstorm on the highway, driving? What
poetry in music of folk songs to which his head swung
to politic and freedom ride. Ongoing dedication

in lessons

a clean house, continuous on an interval. Derivative
cloud, closed curve in a sandstorm. Periscope of his
bright making. What straight stare and analytic eyes.
White board revealing velocity of many

daughters moving across the room, over the yellow dotted line.
Sine. Perhaps it is the chain rule, half empty or half full.
Reliable horizontal line sloping like popcorn hypotenuse
gathered with needle onto thin thread to deck a season tree

carried in

two or more basic functions. Meeting to entreat
ongoing introduction to the skills the first born learns
from first born, with building blocks and abacus.

Arithmetic engineering bridges even a house divided in tsunami
lit with heaven’s gold star guiding through

weather and trajectory. Small pebbles of
continuous change.

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Vessel

Inside I imagine puckered cups of butter cookies nested in paper that releases a sigh But instead there may be fiction within wishes never reciprocated Playbill of redundant arguments One black glove found fraying This vessel on an emptied table solo temptation is labeled with another’s name Guarded initials as if carved in melting snow A tool unsuited to the task of prying open Not yet valentine

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As Mourning Doves Persist

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