When uncertainty became a sheafof probabilities, and those formulas creptinside us, I went every day to the waterand watched itlose its underhairto a kind of lake combine (a waterharvester) or lap lap lightat its prairie banks, which nodded backa very sleepy rainbow, blazing stars purpleand brown, big bluestems blue-greenand brown, compass plants green-yellowand brown, purple coneflower orange-and-brown-hearted, all setin a tallgrassthree-dimensional mattingwaving at the clouds: are you measurable,I asked, have you been approximated, does itmatter, is your matter in anymeaningful way repeated in the numbers, andwill you decline somehow, measured,does the wild seem weaker now, how can Ifight for you, what innocence must I pushinto to find you againtrembling at every scale, a windthat could include peopleblowing at every scale, reciprocal twitching.A great cluster of ducks appeared in the bay,hundreds. Sandhill cranesstalked the path. Above art installationseagles spread and contracted, their wingspanschanging as they whirledcloser, lower, farther, pastthe treeline, hungry andenjoying hunger. Every time I’m in a highplace I stop for the eagles, hawks, falcons,vultures, etc., even sometimes buzzards, notto identify them in the moment,who would want to, lords of the only metaphorthat helps, sharing our infringements—Istop between trees or in the fieldand look up like I’m in a copyof a painting of Icarus where Icaruswins and onlookers know it, windon my teeth, whistling againthrough my rictus. This is it, the innocenceof technology: I thank the golden eagle,who laughs back at biomimetics.It knows the article where we marvelhow smart its use of wind, how complexour mappings. Awkward. I amso grateful I turn to the artinstallation and get banging: I take the sticksand strike the pipes, the one rhythmI know. I’m feeding it math. I’vesacrificed family. I’ve sacrificed community.I’m so sacred the only thing leftis the altar, which is this, whereveryou see me: assume I’m guarding the altarthat guards itself. Thank you,water. Thank you, buildings.Thank you, aquatic weedharvester, slimy greens slidingup your mouth the way the moonslides up the frame of a window.