MORPHEUS
Poems by Lawrence Carradini

This thing keeps changing
like a wire on a cycloned fence;

kite flying in the wind
wet to the tail. This way
and
that. Skittering up
and
crash. Can you tell me
which way it blew? Why?

Does it matter? To someone...
And the letter doesn¹t have to be

Addressed To:
John.

And the problem could be
Anything.

But, there is always before us
a demonstration

of the first of three signs of being.