It is time.
The tocsin clangs and
I wonder if we will answer.
Will we
Rise for those who cannot stand,
Speak for those unable to speak,
Shout for those too frightened to be noticed?
Will we
Beseech, cajole, beg for the destitute,
Chastise the greedy,
Kneel for the abandoned child?
Will we
Offer comfort for the homeless,
And solace to the fearful?
Will we
Help lift downcast eyes riveted
Motionless in the shadows
By power that yearns for the past?
Will we be passionate?
Will we be decent?
Will we be true?
It is time.
And for this, I do not wonder:
There, but for the grace of God,
Go us all.

A distant rumble,
Only a tickle of memory,
Ages into it all from
Once callow disdain.
Hubris unrealized,
Now unspoken as
The hourglass grows heavier,
Evening thicker, and the
Lauding echoes
Diminish beyond summon.

I fall into the dreams I craft.
Unshackled from the present,
I heal my aggrieved heart.
I ponder, fiddle with the past,
Shape time, trifle with fortune,
Fashion what could have been
And remain comforted until
I can no longer remain, for
There are others.    
Others who will not know
The bone-tingling joy of first love
Who will never see a sparrow hop
Branch to branch in the dead of winter,
Who face attenuated life without despair,
Who dare not dream for fear of want.
And yet they do dream,
Dreams infinitely more modest
And infinitely more powerful
Than my own constructs,
And I awake, silent.

We climbed over the East River
and the iron web encased the roadway
and I pressed against the window
as the granite squares of the bridge sped by
only to stop along an embankment before
tumbling down to the cobblestone walkway,
running past stone tables with old men
hovering over soapstone knights and
to the promenade, to the railing,
stunned by the grand sweep of it
from the squat cut-stone icon
to the glass spires huddled on the far shore
elbowing for prominence
to the sunset reach of New York Harbor
stretching southward
far beyond the fingertip of Manhattan
past the tugboats that
scurried in the channel
along Governor’s Island
and on past the Liberty Torch
and out to sea.

Two, side-by-side,
Standing, silent,
Awaiting our decision.
We choose the smaller,
the younger one.
Hooray!
Excitement, commotion,
A readying of things.
Congratulatory words
alight upon us.
A marvelous choice,
You are perfectly suited,
the kids will adore him.
The gate unlatched,
whisked into another room.
A bathing, inoculation,
presented flawless.
A modest sum tendered,
a signature penned.
A dizzying,
back-seat free-for-all.
We speed away.
New family member,
new best friend.
Each of us curious.
How big will he grow?
What tricks will he learn?
Who will be his favorite?
The questions abound,
except for one:
What of the other?

Cast off the carapace,
Reject the shadows,
The years of silence.
Bellow,
Boast,
Soar.
Stalk with Orion,
Lie bewitched by Cassiopeia,
And love,
Immerse in romance,
Avail oneself of kindness,
Stoop low for the hungry child,
Caress the brows of the better angels
Before time’s cruel erosion
Renders the faint-hearted famished,
Shackled to the plow
When the final growl,
The tocsin before dusk’s silence,
Rattles for a life not lived.