Is she sure these particular wishing wells are things
she should regularly be dropping other things into,
or does she just naturally expect things will be just fine down there?
Like the new shiny quarter the tooth fairy left,
there will always be something brand new to forget,
but no regret for having wished for such trinkets?
These are the souvenirs that the marriage ring hawker sells;
we buy them knowing most of them will not work, not for long.
Big talkers from pleasantville hope we never figure out
the best way to get our hands clean is by washing something else.
The weakest arguments extend from those most needed to be strong,
continually rethinking the things they claim to be sure about
So many questions about the way they say it is,
in the aftermath of the imaginary mathematics she created
from the only material she could use,
is she sure of this reflection of the way it is?
Or is she intermittently but forgivably confused,
unknowing or even less caring what day it is?
How did she construct within her altitude such an impervious barrier
out of such flimsy fabric, hand woven into imaginary slight;
that no fact not pre-approved can knock forever and not be heard?
Only words that she so already knows will ever seem fair to her,
anything she did not first believe can just not possibly be right,
if she did not see it happen it could not possibly have occurred