Saturday, July 16, 2011
We say there must be more — more to this world than we think,
or dream, or are able to perceive. Then we prove it with our imaginations.
When I was growing up, my father taught me a day didn’t start
until I’d splashed cold water on my face.
I had my doubts at first, but soon enough
I found the method worked.
It still does. And now I see us at the washtub by the mirror,
pleased with who we were, and all we were imagining.
But is there more? Or am I, perhaps,
the more that he was seeking?
My guess can only be imagined. We have the mirror;
I wonder what it thinks when we’re not there.