History Turning
on the Timing of a Breath

A party of teetering, giggling drunks
decide to stroll along a cliff edge.
But nobody falls.  What could’ve been,
wasn't.  Good news.  Very good news.

Or, not news at all.  Every day
things don’t happen that might’ve:
dizzying non-events, so numerous,
buzzing like bumped nests of could bees.

Seth Crook

If you have any comments on this poem,  Seth Crook  would be pleased to hear from you.