Just wondering
if worlds seen from a distance
are really smaller than they are
Could it be that when we sleep
the world we leave goes on without us
Maybe you remember the old days too
when greenhorns multiplied their joys
and were thoughtless as a new moon
Is it possible that, upstairs, everything is seen
through a rose window bright as Venus
or is there nothing to be seen between us
Perhaps you needed to spend some years
on an island being tuned
You thought I might be
shoveling snow this morning
on the cusp of spring
I wanted to ask if maybes still exist
or if tomorrow is so sure a thing
So, are you still counting coup
on the enemies of the morning dew
Haven’t heard, so I thought I’d tell a new tale
one of thoughts that may never have been played,
thoughts naked as new babes born today
Have you noticed something odd?
Nothing ever changes but the color
of the feather in the hat band of god
Could I
Would you
What the
Why the unworn soles of shoes
on the feet of the dancer?
When did you say you last caught
glimpses of the ghosts you fought
You didn’t say, but I suspect
you’re still stuffed with words,
a cornucopia of clever twists
in our alphabet
Possibly it’s a mistake,
but even god is not perfectly awake
For what it’s worth breakfast is the best meal of the day—
the sun’s a fresh egg, the clouds white albumin
—ahead? a day with lots of space to stew in
Guess I could just jot something
resembling our bridges of contention
with their steel beams and delicate
cables of suspension
If it’s not too much to ask
(the paper being so unreliable these days
and television a joke),
how’s the weather?
Fine —and your’s?

As fine, I hope
by Jim Culleny

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