Proof Best Left To Poets

variable throws flower petals into the church collection plate

variable blows “I love you” into a pot of butternut squash soup

variable teaches his son to growl

variable drives to a soccer game thinking of a girlfriend up north and gets asked, “Dad, where’s Portland?"

in a world misshapen, porous, bubbly

bits of wonder zoom through days like breezes or dolphins

thus, coins so belong on the eyelids of the dead