I’m writing this on my iPad in flight mode from New York. This is a true story, only genders and localities have been changed to fit the demands of the Onegin stanza. Both the curator who told us the story and the villager were women, and the conversation happened in an out-of-the-way part of Oaxaca in Mexico.
Sonnet No 8: A tale from New York City A New York Gallery curator in search of warmth, and needing rest, found more than both near the Equator. A villager (perhaps in jest) revealed to him her tribe's tradition (one day out in the jungle, fishin') that all that's living, all that is (forget about your Genesis) sprang forth from just one source, a river. 'What river?' the curator cried. 'What else but this one?' she replied. The art man's spine went all a-shiver. He said, 'That's not such crazy talk. We think the same way in New York.'
Me fail? I fly! 