THE POEM
contradicts itself,
cancels itself out,
presents a unified front,
only a unity of opposites,
disparate voices disagreeing,
agreeing again,
agreeing to disagree,
staking out a position
in the politic of the possible,
moving from it,
breaking with the past,
moving on,
ceaselessly arguing irritably,
demanding the exacting reasonable,
nothing less than the impossible will do,
every day of life must be a miracle.

Nothing remains certain.
Solid ground gives way
to the watery deep.
The clouds of our sorrows
empty into our cups of joys.
Stars pinpoint the position
with ever sharp precision.
Our world is not one.
There are as many worlds as there are of us.
If I go the world goes.
--David Joseph