I got to wondering today
if I am an old dog
who can’t be taught new tricks
if that windmill going round and round
catching the wind between the blades
is really who I am,
if the universe surges
into the spaces still left in me,
if it is trying to wake the music
yet alive inside
in the curves of my heart,
if the blood pulsing there refuses to go down
in one grave path
and insists on a symphony of swerve
an inclination in a new direction.
If that breeze is really grace
then maybe I am being reborn
a puppy full of life
eager to be all the dog it can be.
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 12:31 AM UTC
I got to wondering today
if I am an old dog
who can’t be taught new tricks
if that windmill going round and round
catching the wind between the blades
is really who I am,
if the universe surges
into the spaces still left in me,
if it is trying to wake the music
yet alive inside
in the curves of my heart,
if the blood pulsing there refuses to go down
in one grave path
and insists on a symphony of swerve
an inclination in a new direction.
If that breeze is really grace
then maybe I am being reborn
a puppy full of life
eager to be all the dog it can be.
I recently saw two movies both of which touched me to tears. They were movies about believing and about dramatic changes, even miracles. I don't know exactly why they touched me so, except that they might have had a message for me, a message about changes I need to make, about a slightly new direction, a swerve away from what is expected, away from the exact trajectory my life has been taking. Also in this poem is the idea of swerve, a philosophy that some believe sparked the modern age.
