Like God, invisible but apparent everywhere, like whispers and rumors of exchange in a private language of default swaps and synthetic obligations, like money touching itself, like a weather of expectations, buffeted by irrational incarnations of credit, roving mysteries entertained by algorithms and heavy machinery, data flashing with treasure, like a song, like blood, like a trillion drops of water so tiny they float by themselves, careless and random until they cool, lose interest and collapse. Like clouds, mere clouds, and clouds weigh tons. Let’s not forget that.

leaning against the ATM
eyes closed
as if in prayer

Richard Cole

is the author of two books of poetry: The Glass Children (The University of Georgia Press) and Success Stories (Limestone Books). He is also the author of a memoir, Catholic by Choice (Loyola Press). His poems and essays have been published in The New Yorker, Poetry, Hudson Review, Sun Magazine, Barrow Street, Diode, The American Journal of Poetry, Ruminate, Dappled Things, Image Journal, and various anthologies. Honors include an NEA fellowship and a Bush Foundation grant. Cole works as a painter and business writer in Austin, Texas.

More at: www.richard-cole.net