All books are things with pages.
Some books are mysteries.
Therefore, the slide rule will not work
after it has tumbled into the rabbit hole.
Therefore, only the gulls will know the mystery
of the fish spine left to shimmer on the beach.
And all poems are things with hinges.
And doors work nicely as telescopes.
Therefore the circus tent works better
in moonlight than it does at noon.
Therefore the animals are shy and you
won’t ever know how facile they are with old
or dormant languages. Therefore a panda
is a fallacy only if you mistake it
for anything else but a penguin.
But even in such instances,
a fallacy may be forgiven. And all
paths that diverge in the wood
this time of year are either yellow
or not yellow, but none of them
is any less mysterious. Choose one
and choose another. Choose all or nothing.
Or choose to dwell in the more precarious middle.
Choose a condition preferably involving books
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or maps or letters—Some kind of field
into which you might endlessly fall.