Our common grounds are not always ground, not always stable -- can be water, can be air, can be a page in a book. Near the embankment a soccer ball bobs in the water. It's the size of a human head, looks like a deep sea diving helmet. Imagine a body extending downward treading water — but I don't want to imagine that. The water is filthy. I once saw a dead dog tied to a plank drifting downstream. A little distance from the soccer ball a toy horse, bright white, floats in the murk. The head is missing. Other toys undulate among the leaves and plastics all inching their way downstream to the ocean for ports unknown....