Joseph O. Legaspi
The universe has no edge or center.
Yet we who traverse in it do so
along perimeters, always, man-made,
conceptual and defined. Try and pin-
point the center, and we go there. Or is
it where we are at a given moment?
We are bound by boundaries: arms length
or under the hot sun of a horizon.
Trace edges, visible and invisible; place me in a box as I walk around in
circle. Or is it equilibrium we seek: like the mallard bobbing on the Hudson
River, afloat, content, afloat.
postcard from Pomegranate, art by Basquiat
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