Suddenly one
unoriginal July day—in the hot rude lateless
of ongoing afternoon
you're—perched
on a porch
sipping iced coffee and munching
and contemplating—a million
and one little
madeleine cookies—tiny repeating seashells
all modeled after
the very
first perfect madeleine cookie—
only—you realize
there probably was no actual first
madeleine cookie—
and just you're so over-
whelmed
by the implications of that
implacable thought—
that you
simply must
stop and
haul off to the nearest park—and go
splashing
through the swimming pool
of cool
and endlessly—and
refreshingly
bue and self-
similar water.