Paterson ★★★★½

Everything is poetry.
A pie can be poetry too.
Life is a living poetry,
Each day unfolding to the same metre,
With internal rhymes
Like waterfalls and twins, and Lou Costello.

People's conversations on the bus, rather stilted but
Lovingly presented.
And Paterson from Paterson, who appears to have it made.
Living in his cosy world with everything named after him
And a woman who really understands him.
But he understands her too, and supports her, and accepts her little quirks
Just as everyone accepts each other's quirks here.
And perhaps that's what poetry is, the momentary flash that reveals -
Not explains, just reveals -
The world as a single constellation, with all its various stars all aligned
And burning brightly.
Each one announcing 'Here I am' and
Containing its own secret world.
Each one important in its way.

Then the light fades, and things are just things again.

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