broken fingers worn down to the bone
is it our turn to make the world go round again
all this toil and timber stolen from the forest
our symphonies are the sounds of lumberyards in Seattle
attraction to the unseen leaves you feeling restless
and dreamy as a satellite
lost in its trajectory
a shimmering object falling from the sky
our instant recognition of that star in another’s eye
i no longer miss those fences that kept us safe from harm
but left us feeling lonely like a hand without an arm
and no one ever said it would be easy
to awaken and retain the fragments of your dreams
but its not impossible for i have seen
and witnessed personally
ones who’ve indeed done that deed
which has no comparison
it exists unto itself
and sparkles in its own effulgence
like millions of tiny seeds
sharpen your appendages
and forge your own crusade
while so many are determined to put everyone else away
who can be your enemy in a world where all is one
shreds of evidence are slanted and wisdom is our fate
praise the melted fat of the offering
as we raise up high our plates