AQUARIUM

Maybe there's 

a purpose

to each place, 

an end

which pacifies  

all the objections.

Maybe there's 

a bedrock 

somewhere behind your face 

which is free 

of all of the guilt 

of comparison.

Would you rather be 

the fish 

in this aquarium—

forgetting, with each turn, 

the dimensions 

of your prison? 

Would you sigh

with your gills 

spread so wide 

that the patron 

passing by could

see to your inside?

It's possible

what we've built

is all that there is,

but that doesn't mean we 

were designed to 

recognize it.