wormhole

Wormhole

Is like an open door

Through which all things

Must travel

The endless reaches of space

Love tiny hands

Transistor radios

Red threads

And blue birds

Small chips

And black tiles

And purple pastry

A dog recently spayed

Lives with me in this

Wormhole of paintings

And work

And somber early mornings

I love snacks

And cars

And cans

And the whole multiplicity

Of the human world of stuff

Even though we are drowning in

Our materialism

The wormhole is not a black hole

It’s a clear-empty headed space hole

That carries the swift currents

Of passion through my home.