! Some Other Poet, Some Other Poetry

and yes, since we can all dream some other life – but do not, cannot, dream its divergences, its accidents, its departures and arrivals, I dream some other life rich in metaphor so that nothing seen, but draws into the mind its strange partner far across the world: food on a plate seen as a battlefield; a chair as atoms; a rainstorm as a marriage; a fieldmouse as an empire; and across years, the whole planet drawn two by two into the arked mind meeting its metaphoric partner and questioning its own image of itself living in strangeness and in after years a figure seen, in knee-high leather hunting boots striding through city streets seeing not a city but a world; living words as if meeting strangers, waking simultaneously in many heavens, knowing the unknown into its own future words