The Devereux Slough

I have read that for Descartes all things alive
Or not alive are solid void, except
Equations. So these ducks, green bill and head,
Are graphs on blanks of subjectivity,
Their quacks some numbers searching for an ear
Itself a motion thin as light. And since
All void is gravity, it obligates
The farthest fleeing cluster to their flight,
The light year to their anniversary,
The measured naught, the measure variation.
Our cosmic Heraclitus never rests!

Behold this book between us on our knees,
The idiosyncratic pictures, the descriptions
Of how, from pools reflective of the skies
And clouds in Manitoba, the memory
...