What are the chances
of
you reading this?
What
are the chances
of
anything happening at all?
The
quiet man sits on the park bench
that
he dreamed about.
A
woman sits on the bench,
the
very same one,
next
to the quiet man
that
she dreamt about,
both
drawn to time, place, and soul
by
strange winding rivers
driven
by eddies and currents
too
deep to fathom.
Life
is a dream,
and
the dream is life
when
we notice the random
billboard,
song, painting,
the
chance encounter,
the
conspiracy of coincidence
for
which we are finely-tuned
when
we notice the noticing.
A
petal falls in Argentina,
stirring
the air into a ripple
becoming
a breeze that causes
the
wind to move an ocean
and
bring forth rain in Burma
on
a man who needs cleansing
from
the grief of a buried wife.
I
have met you,
and
you have met me.
Is
that not wondrous
in
such a far-flung galaxy?
~William Hammett
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