Concentric Bubbles

When I think in poetry,

I draw diagrams of meaning

inside larger circles of words

made of symbols for windy sounds 

constricted.

Packs of baseball cards on the racks

as I walk past into the supermarket

enclosed me in a scent memory

of cardboard and bubblegum

a distant feeling circle

so immense I could never 

get outside of it.

Now my limiting circles have expanded

to reach stars and inverted

down to microbes and electrons,

my enveloping skin stretched 

so thin I could pop me with a thought.