wb :

like an undelivered letter misses
the letterbox, ending up lightyears
away. the way wheelboats used to
hiss down the missisippi river the
way what bills itself as a wishing
well is just the nearest waterhole,
missing the point that critters in
wells don't fulfil destiny very well;
the way a chocolate chip misses its
cookie; popcorn its box. sand at low
tide, a cup without water, a sun
without a horizon,


the way one misses important calls,
buses go off impatiently. i guess
it must be fate, i hate to say this but
a miss is as good as a mile - i might
have to run that thousand after all.