If something is not part

of a pattern, does not repeat,

is it still not a norm—

the norm of the anomaly?

For more than fifty years,

I have scratched my poems

like a dog its ear searching

for temporary relief.

The comfort of a pattern:

another successful day

passes without consequence.

I’ve placed a word on a page,

replaced nothing with purpose.

As above so below.

(June 20, 2026)