Inside the hamster’s cage, beneath its glowing-
igloo hideaway, there is another. Underneath
the stack of substantial orange paperbacks,
realms of highly intelligent dwellers. Beside
the fish bowl, a portal to three doors down
where the potter resides in her basement
of blue ceramic Buddhas. Deep in the gut
of a jay, a delectable station. The other world
is inside this screen door, so come on in.
Here, where I stash three kinds of milieu,
several twisted, fleshy roots. Over here,
where there’s this other, where language
waxes, where impermanence isn’t a word,
where the chief inhabitants have no tongue.
Inside this crevice, where words and intonations
coalesce in a place that’s here and not.
*Originally published in Monarch Review.