Not like some baroque landscape or group
of seven epiphany, thoughts parasitic and un-
profound. Poem pulls them together like a
catalogue entry, an eBay ad for directions to
some imaginary city with wide avenues and no
traffic. At the post office, there is posted a ‘most
wanted’ poster for a perfect word, its history and
sound pattern. The path of flight is imaginary and
inwardly is the only direction. Buttons and thimbles,
a letter unsent, three inkless pens, a compilation CD
sent late for his birthday; in ten years temperatures
might begin to sky-rocket. The lens changes the thing
is no longer. Etymology and physiology are the same. Or looping.
Reconsidering the word “baroque.” Ah, and in that other city,
the air is clear and deep. Cogito joins you for a walk.