Robert Hooke Studies Cells
He brings all his vegetables back to his room. His table is covered in carrots and fennel. Burdock and reeds under his bed. He makes another microscope. He writes a heavy book with illustrations. He makes a little money and puts it under his bed. Still his table is covered in carrots. Still he spends every day bent over his magnifying discs, windows to the insides of other rooms. Bare floors there. No tables. No beds. Underneath, no scraps of paper scattered in thistles and dust, no cramped script noting
such tiny little rooms, the most delicate order imaginable.
