Why
The chance that you would
touch my shoulder and
I would sprout wings.
That you would speak a
string of words that would
offer a solution to the
world’s most difficult
mathematical problem.
I would.
You are the
woman giggling in the next room,
a driver turning as I go straight,
the first customer after I leave the diner.
Ever, ever, ever on the outbound.
I also know that you may not exist.
I still would.
The possibility that the earth’s next
rotation welcomes a sun that
shines upon a day that I will
talk about until I cannot talk.
From the collection Fields of Satchmo
Photo by MJV
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