When we recognize we “think again”
without knowing what or if
we thought before.
I confuse copper
with brass.
To recognize is almost
always a pleasure;
perhaps it is pleasure itself.
I confuse Melissa
with Melissa.
To recognize is not
only to give something a name
but to give it the very name
that was waiting for it
somewhere
as if thing and name had been
sad without each other.
That’s a woman
in an arctic-fox costume
singing, “Don’t you worry
’bout a thing,
baby.”
I confuse worry with
*
Darkness in the shape
of leaves
flows over a building;
black ellipses
on the bay
slipping
and falling into place…
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The New Yorker (Digital) - 1 Issue, March 7, 2016