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   d o w n,    t h e n    u p

--- R O N   P A D G E T T


A metaphor knocks on the door.

Metaphor, there’s no one here
but us chickens who cluck
in English, but you understand
any language because you are
in the way any language is.
If I go back to just before you knocked,
you are in my going back, as I
am in my going back, or
the going back is me
though I didn’t do it—and then
I break up through the
water and goddamn
it’s cold! along this edge
of Sweden a pencil drew.

© crossconnect, inc 1995-2004 |
published in association with the |
university of pennsylvania's kelly writers house |