Shrinking Violet
It’s the strangest thing to be awake
as this hour breaks and then recedes,
a wave of purple ebbing
on a dark brown shore,
like blood drying on the skin
around a wound, a healing
almost hurting me.
Even as I watch the colors
change I’m not sure I believe
that depths so dark
can clear and shine and wash
the sand clean as a virgin
blushing as she lets her last defense
fall gently to the floor.
It is such a demonstration
of what happens when I’m dreaming,
of the sweeping changes I’ve been launching.
It is all that I can do
to hold the tears in place,
behind my eyes.
I’ve been so unconscious,
so ensconced in opaque sleep
I failed to see the bronze horizon
stretching past my shoulder
or the miracle of parting mists,
the shrinking violet that leaves
the land and sky and sea
a brilliant, open plain,
white and blue and green.
Do I Dare?
When I hear the no’s
I’m not really there.
My body may be in its chair
but my ear is pressed
to someone else’s throat.
Be careful who you ask.
Shoot for the moon?
the well intentioned earthbound say,
If you’ve read the history books
you’ve heard how few have landed.
Get serious. Save the planet.
Plant your feet on terra firmest;
put the telescope in storage.
Wider orbits are a myth
and even if they’re real,
a ticket costs too much.
It’s the struggle that’s our script.
Aim for the sun?
Not what doctors recommend–
look at those severely burned.
Ignore what’s warmed
or fed or grown;
focus on the melanomas.
Look how many others
mightier than you have crashed.
Just be smart–that is,
do what we do.
Accompany our misery.
Don’t just feel our discontent;
really make it yours.
The stars are lovely, yes,
but note their distance.
How many rockets ride that far?
Dreams are an escape,
a blithe indulgence,
not the means to anything
within your reach.
Keep doing what you’re doing,
listening to what we preach
so we can share the clucks and sighs,
the woe is me’s that bind us to our lot.
Even if it’s being what you’re not,
being glad for what you’ve got
is gift enough.
Maybe it’s not great—
at least it’s right.
Not crystal clear but it’s precise.
Demanding more is greed or blasphemy.
Grab hold of any branch
that bobs up in the stream.
Cling to any rooted life;
don’t think of letting go—
you know the price you’ll pay,
the bumps and bruises you’ll sustain.
Forget the blissful fool
who risks it all to find the life
he cares to call his own.
Beware the lightning and the thunder.
Heed, don’t bless and then dismiss the fear
for its attempt to spare you any pain.
Look down and see
how far you’ll fall,
look around for shelter, never up,
or worse—within.
For God’s sake, never wonder
do I dare?
