The Blue Table: A Miracle

    As if my latest refusal

To make sense called the bluff

Of an intransigent demiurge,

His dada clockwork. Well,

My pout is hardly the first

And not likely to make Mr. Big

Punch skylights in his Platonic cave.

Everything’s infinitely more likely

To have been some other thing—

Like you, who only last week 

Were here alive, and here I am

Sitting across a blue table

From you, and you are again.