Hot days and warm nights. But it’s all relative. We used to call these temperatures cool in the San Joaquin Valley. Still, one hundred is one hundred, and seventy is seventy — just as my name is what’s stated on my birth certificate, and on all of my other “important papers,” the electronic ones included. In other words, it is, and it isn’t. Or, to frame it as a question: Isn’t is what is isn’t?
To see what isn’t there / grace that bends the air /
the revelation that ensues / it may be this we tragically refuse /
when we confuse / vision / with / insanity /
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Categories: A Few More Scratches