Everywhere you look is deep,
the stone and flower are deep,
as are the rambling ant and the menacing mosquito.
On the corner of Elm and Main
crossing traffic forces you to wait.
You notice hands on a steering wheel of a car passing by
another occasion for deep,
seams of confidence, eyes ahead, first things first.
A dog with her nose out the window,
her joy, her deep.
Later, you spot a book on a public library shelf.
It is thick, elegantly bound, and presumed deep.
Not necessarily.
A fistful of distractions keeps you from grasping deep
when your daughter asks you for seven dollars. How old
she is when asking shifts the boundaries of the question.
Dependency? Emergency?
Either way there is deep,
more than meets the eye.
Your body is deep
Your skin, blood, and bones,
readied for medical examination
deserve contemplation.
You sit centered in self-dwelling silence,
noticing thought after thought after thought,
a steady pulse, a sudden itch. Breath
bellowing on, bellowing on, bellowing on.
Why all this persisting?
Your thumb throbs from a whack early Wednesday.
The History of Hurt. How hurt brings up memories.
How yesterday’s hurt colors the day after tomorrow.
Sandals left on a picnic table.
Why? What do this mean?
On the surface, maybe nothing, or carelessness,
or the deep inter-vivacity of feet and food.