I’m looking for something unusual in the den,
which is absurd,
for there is nothing.
The quartz crystals will not suddenly sprout wings
and flutter off, abandoning the fat petrified wood specimens.
I shouldn’t expect the staid shelves cradling my books
to have changed elevation.
It’s unlikely I will discover my wife won the lotto
and piled the winnings on my desk.
Our wildflower seed stock shan’t spring forth
from the right-hand drawer.
But I look anyway
because I haven’t found anything rare anywhere else.
—Mitchell
Hegman
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