clinging hard to the dance of dawn, delayed
and you can lie
belly up to the cold grey sky
letting go of all fear
til the hawk comes tapping
on one shoulder
nothing between us,
no shield,
no field,
nothing filling the corners
with debris
just these bold
reflection curves
and mist-mirrored
smiles
holding court
in a forest
of fancy
.
.
.
and are they
one and
the same?
the questions roar
and the answers
take flight
and the trees just
stand there
growing
.
.
.
in the mirror of everything
sky raining down around you
in a pattern of potential
with the fortitude of grace
dripping cold from
squared-off shoulders
as if sunshine
could be ordered and
magnificence
presumed
.
.
.
i’m dizzy all the time
and i’d like to say that’s metaphor,
(and it is, a little)
but i can’t seem to stand
in one place
long enough
to stop the spinning
i thought age
would keep me steady
strengthen roots
chart my course
but the world is cockeyed
and ambitious
and i get closer to antique
every day
rebellion is for youth
(or so i thought)
but here i am
(here we are)
fighting for things
i thought already won
and that’s just the way of things
isn’t it?
nothing is certain
we fool ourselves
into new beginnings and lit
lights and the mirage of
equanimity
but the truth is
it’s a never-ending battle
and i think understanding
that one simple thing
sustains us
i grow old on the banks of a river
running circles
around us all
.
.
.
