There can be worlds within a room, it seems;
A population equal parts at play,
At work, at rest, and busy with their dreams.
The hip-hop, and the line dance — the ballet —
All types of dancing, singing, and the like.
The sweat of labor, and the blood of toil —
The medical: the surgeon and the psych;
The searcher, both of answer and of foil —
The populace of every time and place,
Collapsed into a space upon a couch:
Such myriads within a single face
May seem unlikely, but its truth I’ll vouch:
However long, I will not reach the feat
Of meeting all the you’s I’d love to meet
