or less disconcerting
to see
that there is no
one reality
which undergirds the scene?
Take, for instance, the dimly lit room
where once, we
sat all night, arguing—
slinging gold rings,
tacking up tents, and drawing with chalk
down the center of the thing.
How painfully small
it seemed to me then;
how crammed
with stale baggage and flooded
with shame.
Then again, there could have been
much more space around us
than we realized;
that stifling room's true size
might just have been infinite—
although then, one must imagine,
so too would've been
the elephant.
