You love this mirage, this idea of yourself looking out on the world, when, all the while, the world is within you. And you love the sanctity of what you imagine is your private space, when that same space is outside you. And if what is outside is in, and what is inside is out, where are you, and what are you? Just what becomes of the who of you?
Afternoon Nap
Even in his sleep,
our little grandson
is imagining
the world.
Poems, Slightly Used, October 7, 2008
Categories: Everything and Nothing, Poems, Slightly Used
