Orphanalia by Colette DeDonato


With every vision
there’s the opposite of vision.
Ordinary, drab, skating out on
Kierkegaard’s frozen lake of indecision.
Where roads lead to no familiar.
Theories of madness don’t interest you,
nearer to the window seat of being.
In the end maybe I’m only here for beauty.
The soft curve of you.
[from, Where I Might Find You If Only I Could Keep Looking]