As If
Three pounds of fiery neurons, lodged
in the grave of a skull
atop a seventy percent water
column, pacing the beach,
trying to fathom aliveness
especially the ocean, as if
thoughts were not fish, schooling,
or buds in early spring
under late snow
against dark rocks
where it’s warmer
and safe to grow, as if
the folly of comprehending aliveness was even possible, as if
staring at the sun wouldn’t blind you, as if
words exist
and enigmas aren’t enigmas, as if
we are not umbilically
attached
like children to kites, as if
the length of string didn’t matter.
~ by Karen Sullivan
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