The Last Three Feet by Dan Pettee

Maple Palm Oracle by Randall Arthur
                                                                                                                                                           

                                                                The Last Three Feet 

                                                                Ether is the either/or
                                                                that spins the sinuously sticky web
                                                                we weave decisions in. Its
                                                                filaments are light as air, vaguely
                                                                finger-playing in our memories. Either is

                                                                as dreaming does, 

                                                                so many photographs developed
                                                                in a flash of time before
                                                                the need is even recognized.
                                                                Either is, as well, the residue
                                                                of scripted hopes, of what
                                                                just might in times to come be true.
                                                                Like warm clay, it takes its final shape
                                                                in the pulses of our warring
                                                                impulses, the clutch and pull and draw
                                                                of dervish-like desires.
                                                                Either is or isn’t, just as
                                                                those flowers on the balcony
                                                                wax or wane in circadian cycles,
                                                                sown in sunlight, rain, and time.
                                                                Either: like one’s name in invisible ink
                                                                reversed, and the joke’s on the other,
                                                                never on us. 
                                                                Oh, no…

                                                                ___________
                                                                Dan Pettee  

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