poem at 3 am

the earth is round
yet we divide it into squares.

we live in square houses,
in square rooms,
eat from round bowls
and round plates
each at a square table.

at night, we lie
each in a square bed
beneath the round moon.

will we ever fit together?

my thoughts go around
my round head~
they fly in circles
before lying down
in straight lines
on a square of paper;

then, line after line of thought
circles out from the square
of paper,
concentric circles circling out,
the pebble of a thought
tossed into the pond
of the universe…

one night, i too will lie
down in a straight line,
merely a thought
among other thoughts,
not connected except by shape,
not fitting the circle
of the earth.

i am a square,
a square peg,
a block-head
with a round hole
in the bullseye of my heart
that nothing stops

and i lift my round eyes
to the great circle of the sky
in wonder.