Hanging onto my hat I leap towards
my life’s next appointment not knowing
quite where or with whom figuring
I will recognize it when I get there
I will hear my name called
feel the rightness of the moment
and breathless with anticipation
jump to my feet holding out my
hopes and dreams like a sheaf
of papers in a folder.
Here, I will say. Take these.
I have another copy.
A racket of crows punctuated by the long cries
of a hawk filled the sky from early morning until past noon.
The hawk had caught a crow and each time it ventured out
of its nest was assailed by the whole angry lot of them.
Such a noise such a wild chase, all simply for survival.
Oh sure we want that too–not just to see another day
but to see our grandchildren grow, our gardens bloom,
our dreams come true, our hearts opened by love.
We want to watch the moon rise, see a thousand sunsets,
visit the Grand Canyon, be witness to our lives, maybe
find a cure for cancer, unlock the secret to world peace.
And in our way we are just as noisy about it
as a gaggle of angry crows.
Bone deep exhaustion landed me
in bed before nine with a wild
wind for my lullaby and now I’ll
go out of my self and out of my
house into the world wondering
what I might see or hear or do
on this impeccably particular day
what might appear arise
accost my senses
hurl me forth to imaginings
of tall ships and elephants
sights unseen dreams undreamed
a cortege of angels following
wordlessly above hovering
thither and yon traversing and travailing
waxing silently poetic about
whomever whatever
and whyever not.