As to vector fields and iron filings rustle
The breeze-propell’d wavelets, uncountable
Upon this body so expansive. Perhaps 
You could palpate the troubled surface as
Though it were the leaves of a mille-feuille
Unsheaved like a dealer’s cards. Take a step,

And ponder containing so much,
Extending your consciousness in long fingers
To this face, granite, and the other, basalt. 
Across your drumskin top will swirl eddies of wind,
And laboring ospreys may lance through 
To snarl an unsuspecting bass in your shallows.