Author | Michael Sandler
Numbers don’t lie
though we make them fib
as naturally as plucking certitude from a daisy,
believing too much in their sequence: one paired up with one might form
a golden mean—indeed, together our sum seemed greater than two, till one
of us slept elsewhere and we became three,
the lawyers made five, and
nothing bound us.
Words lose their integrity, blurring
this abstract plea for definition, for a constant
that doesn’t wilt by nightfall—the f of a sunflower’s seed spiral locked
on a fleeing, arbitrary sun, as if connection
could imbue randomness with hope.
About the Author
Michael Sandler’s poems have appeared in more than 30 journals, including California Quarterly, Valparaiso Poetry Review and Zone 3. For his day job, he works in the Seattle area as an arbitrator.