Is a hole
that comes out
somewhere
on the other side
of the world
still a hole? After all—
desperate times
don't call for
pleasurable symmetries;
desperate times
call for
open ledgers.
If a bounty of
ten million-
year-old bones
crushed into muck
and siphoned up from deep
beneath the ground
can still be called
a treasure,
how come what really counts
when we, the living
talk
is always called
priceless,
immeasurable?
