I should be content
to look at a mountain
for what it is
and not as a comment on my life.”― David Ignatow
Outside something something
nature. Creature, plant,
rock, shadow on ground.
Inside something something
human emotion, insight. Illumination.
Metaphor as deep as depth.
Between something something
and something something a wall
unbreachable. Out there we call
“the world.” In here we call “soul” or
something. We call poems “keys.”
We try to make world into soul
with a key to a door we think we see
in the wall. Something, something;
something about the lock being broken
and something about trying to make things
work for us that are not our concern
while something laughs behind our backs.
That’s not door. That’s still wall.
That’s not a soul and maybe there’s no
world. This is a poem, or something, it seems;
a key that unlocks Nothing.
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