The Bridge off the Rim of the World

That you can think things the same,
That you can think of a same,

That there is a thing called same
That you pick out all the time,

This should stun you. It’s all change,
No two points so close they’re one,

And yet you have grown this tool
Like a horn out of your skulls

That helps you dig through the world,
Helps you to turn up the earth,

The same. It is the ur-bridge,
The trope that’s egg to all tropes,

The same. This is one of that.
This day, its own light, its own

And none quite like, is the sort
Of day you know this or that,

Just like those days, just the type,
The same. It’s not the damn same.

The light at dawn’s the new light
That glides down a bridge of names.