Remember that trick where there’s a dove inside a cage, then
somehow the dove remains after a magician takes it away?
Every letter I place here absorbs sky into the blank page—
Am I trying to stare straight at the sun?
Can a sheet of just paper still keep me warm?
What’s not a mirage, but like one? Lines too long to even look
Moon roofs, glass-bottom boats, mirrored windows, ice floes
sculpted into swans?
Why does everyone expect to find “you” in this poem?
Why do I keep writing “you” texts? (Where do I begin?)
Would I rather dive into a pool or the ocean?
Is every sentence that lies a horizon? Is every word polished
enough to seem clear yet—or reflective? Who cares? This is
not a rhetorical question. What besides light is immersive?
What besides language takes risks?