You consider the solar system's
light years from poem to film.
And then, not only distance
but the cool leap from blueberry
to berry cobbler, sheep to shirt.
And realizing the poem isn't
the dream of a movie. The poem
is sharp awake, bubble
trumpet. It's the movie's edge,
in the crisp offstage where
the hero is looking through
a telescope, bringing a handful
of blueberries to his lips,
availing not, hoping not to die
in tomorrow's take but knowing
he must, as we all must do.
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