Nothing’s Weird if You’re Counting On It

Well-adapted creature that you are,
Even if you doubt it, you don’t give
Your world enough credit for strangeness,

For its estrangements every moment
From itself. It’s weird how you get bored
With the weirdness of transforming stuff.

Day’s another universe than night,
Other rules of existence. Seasons
Shift cosmos to cosmos, each its own,

And no two years can manage any
Of these alternations exactly
The same, but to you none of it’s strange,

Not often, not often enough, except
When it’s strange that you didn’t expect.