intertextuality ovenbird On the autumn- struck riverbank visibility is near zero and the fog is deep enough to drown in. I wait in the half light for the flash of a ruby gorget, something to break the monotony of a sky masquerading as ocean. Something that MEANS. We speak in embodied texts: the shared language of fur and tails and wings and teeth. A cardinal. A dragonfly. Something skittish with a bright eye. When the song sparrow opens the vault of its throat, I hear your voice. I hold the empty cup of my hand to my ear, and the string runs all the way back to you, and I think —I believe— you can hear me. 261008 what's it to you? who go blather from