say I was you and you were I,
say your pretty face,
your fancy thoughts
were squeezed,
were squished
inside this convoluted room
that you could never leave,
and you would taste the
world
with tiny, tiny eyes--
from your clumsy, sluggish
path
would you look up in
fear that I,
like this careless,
unavailing god,
would
step on you?
whose universe would be
more grand?
or would they be entirely
the same,
just different
vantage points?
which one of us would have
more right to live?
to thrive?
how would you answer that
if the flamboyant girl were
I
and you were
(just)
an enigmatic snail
dreaming
on a leaf?
