The answer depends on your perception.
If you see a rabbit hole, count it
but don’t expect to count them all. Ever.
Some people
know some rabbit holes
some time,
but all the rabbit holes
don’t welcome all the people
all the time.
Puberty is a rabbit hole of depth and motion,
has you spinning and wondering
where’s the bottom … is there one?
Love wraps its hole self around you
like a lung squeezes and releases,
breathes you in dry, sighs you out damp.
Divorce, a clammy tunnel
with more than a light at the end but all along the way.
Flickering. Off and on and off and on.
Cancer is a rabbit hole you may get out of
but always worry more or less
you could fall in again.
Failure is a hole of many futures.
The one that grows up around you; without
moving a muscle you’re standing at the bottom.
Success is a hole, too. Feels like a hilltop
but really the hole you yearn to escape.
Again. Again. And again. And again.
