Who needs magic letter-counting
or a network of psychic friends
when the last poem I wrote
was about seeing the face of God
in the rind of an orange I had forgotten
I’d left in a desk drawer the day before?
The difference is, I and you and she and they
can all predict with certainty
that, if I eat the orange today,
tomorrow morning I won’t have forgotten it again.
—25 April, 2018
for Adam C. Hutter