East Rock Was One (Day 2,547)

 

A bluff that doesn’t overlook
water, pot holes sink
into view overnight. 

When I calculate distance
too literally, I begin
to see only a stranger 

who grasps at straight lines,
begin to believe in
only their edges. 

I’m not starting, not
stopping, merely counter-balancing 

with these dollar coins
that perform revelry
in my pocket without a conductor.

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