TO FORCE A BLOOM
.
to force a bloom
is to falsify
the natural expansion
of our arms;
to open and hold
with weak petals
the burdens of days
we were not meant to live.
but to wait
wait
for incubation’s
promised plume –
pained and pressed
behind the bud –
o then
is our reward.
full of leaf, fragrance, and color
we shall come
temporarily born
and flaming.
…
..
.
GRIP
.
the hardest grip
we will ever
strain to hold
is upon that
which was never
ours to keep.
…
..
.
STUMBLE
.
it may be better,
i think,
to stumble in the darkness
than to walk
by artificial light.
suns rise.
moons glow.
stars’ distant fires burn.
even the very insects
illuminate,
that we might know…
that we might see
our way.
…
..
.
.
TO MY RIGHT
come.
sit beside me.
i have cleared a space
here
to my right
and there is a crackle of hearth
before us.
let us toss there,
into the gentle dance,
the masks on sticks
that fill our hands,
occupy our fingers
with constant positioning,
and keep us looking through
card board cut-out holes,
like children
in too-tight forts,
hunkered in flimsy boxes
to feel safe.
then,
in the glow of small, consuming flame,
who eats to ash
the painted masks,
i will look on you
and you on me
and feel safer
than in any fort before.
…
..
.
…
VELOCITY
i have found
fear
to be the mightiest
dam of words.
and if anger be the spillway,
it forms a bursted flood
that drowns the tallest reed,
and lost by lost velocity
goes tender, planted seed.
…
..
.
