A poem about

"Can we put in orders, can we be patrons? 
I would like a poem about--
where was the line I
crossed but didn't notice? Your 
first botany notebook.  
Hot taste of homemade raspberry 
pie; picking berries in the
summer sun. How 
rocks get old. The hum
ming of Glenn Gould. World in
black and white. Molecules of 
chocolate.
Do we all have a wall of 
prayer? Where?"

Notes
These lines adapted from a letter from my friend and demonic patron saint, Marie-Therese Blanc. I will answer her orders. Somehow. In the days to come. I am grateful for them, and all of the strange dreams they invite. But first, her requests seemed to me to constitute a poem themselves, so here they are.

Images were taken on the West Quoddy dock yesterday; lobster season opens soon.