Thursday, May 6, 2021


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.