If you…
…Push through the keys on a piano, what’s on the other side?
Not wires and hammers; not wood, but desires.
An echoing chamber of fires and lovers and lies.
…Bite through the skin of an orange, what’s on the other side?
Not citrus but summer, both light and burnt umber,
A country far distant all tart and remembered and bright.
…Look through the slits of an outlet, what’s on the other side?
Not six thousand currents pulsing reverberant,
But magic brought low, in harness instead of in sky.
…Stretch through the screens all around you, what’s on the other side?
We reach for each other through bytes and through phosphor,
Past Borges’ big library, at play in the forms we provide.
We never think shells are the essence; we crack without asking why.
