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 

broken? 

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?