[ poetry - january 09 ]
Calling them strange occurrences
would be wrong, yet they seem like that.
As though there was a world
beyond the question-mark
you had to slip into and like.
Here, there is a cauldron of constant
possibilities and impossibilities.
Here, the game plays out,
which will outplay you.
Let us just be grateful that
you and I have met this evening.
In this rain, in this wild horn
of traffic, we stand under
our umbrellas. Let us be grateful
that we have met.