Drifting through a small-town desert,
passing two or three
lounging-in-doorway-faces
whose eyes have little thirst
for tomorrow,
I find myself strangely at ease with
a coffee and a cream doughnut
from the bakery and nowhere else to be.
Looking for shelter
on the long trek
through the night,
found a roof of stars
and put it over my head.
Weep not for the clothes I wear
or for the stars I worship
or for the badge pinned to my chest;
but mourn instead for my heart
and for my eyes that plumb
the depths of my soul.
The wanderer reaches
for the light obscured
by the fog of a
thousand voices;
shine on me, shine on me,
let me not become
a lost child of the lie.
How is it they see
only what they want to see
and why do they hear
only their own voices?
Oh, we believe
what we want to believe
but who will divide the lie
from the truth that
inconveniences you and me?
Silhouette statue
on a gliding board
gives lie to the glass sea
that neither buckles
or ripples
in the face of the wind.
It’s been a long day
and now my eyes
are heavy with sleep
and longing for the
sweet relief of a soft bed
and a warm body.
This smile, this youthful swagger,
was born to outlast numbered years,
to create eternity out of time,
to capture that long moment of joy.
It was a long trip into the city,
into the hospital;
they caught it early,
they said,
on the short trip
home.
Oh how time passes
and the children
build on time
and the woman
weaves yesterday together.