by Ed Higgins
Ok, ok, so I concede
some answers are enough to make you cry or laugh yourself to death. Funny to think we can see all the way past the sky and stars sometimes, even to the ocean floor if we dive deep enough. But yet just between
of your favorite Shiraz wine,
we are all on a trembling shore strolling along a minor cosmic beach
somewhere in the Milky Way's stellar fog holding hands with God. Maybe
making love-not-war or both sometimes within our bungeed contingency. Or
at least listening to gulls and the milk-white breakers shifting sands of quandary
watching at the edge of silences, mystery twinkling light years out towards countless
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This piece is in the May 2012 issue Shot Glass Journal: . The poem grew out the title phrase someone said while a couple of friends & I were having one of those minor theological discussions you sometimes have after a couple of glasses of wine. An earlier, slightly different version wound up in the zine.