The Audacity

To say yes
to cheek to cheek
And feel the heat
As if we meet
Beneath the sheets
Of untold dreams
We still must see
We still must tell
In fact to yell
With faces Stern
And make the turn
Into the light
Without the fright
Of old and White
Who hold their dreams
of greed And green
in bone-bleached hands
As still unseen
We March ahead
And scream the scene
Into the dream we all have held
As meld and mission
born a brown and Carmel issue
Sweetly symbol
Of undying wings unfolding
Flying higher
Flying outer
Flying ever to the  nectar of the flower
Of the power held within us
Now is sprouting
From the soil that has
Been hardened after being
trodden, seasoned
Under feet of heartless reason
Now that fresh and ever nation
Who have gathered
light unfurling
Now unfolding
In the wind we are beholding
Land is your land
This is our land
As the hard rain falls and washes
In the songs and in the crosses
Of the stars and in the crescent
Moon that rises and surprises
With the fury that supposes
Casket roses will awaken
Us to newness of the promise
We still hold in heart and harness
Guiding over hill and mountain
Drinking from the endless fountain
Eating at this bounty banquet
As love  brings us home.

Sincerity

You:  *******, *******!
Me:  I always loved your sense of humor.
They:  Why are you divorced?

We don’t talk the way that we do
We don’t walk the way that we do
We don’t have the things that we do
And we’re scared of you
And we’re scared of what we’d do
We’re afraid
You’re afraid
I’m afraid.

Forgive reality for being what it is
it forgets what it does with its stories
of memories and artifacts of time.,
gifted us by evening fires and bedsides, barstools and TV’s.  
They echo in each with tears and laughter, anger and dismay
regifted to those close to us.
Lest we forget.

Humor me.
No, let me have my fantasy.
Yes, the dog licks my face
your warmth is next to me
Still, this dream allows me flight to see afar the home I live in.

What is that pattern of something from nothing?
I guess it is luck at the craps table
And the tearful blessing of a crying newborn
As well as the strong wind that blew down the big elm on Second Avenue.

I  eat my lunch
In silence
Surrounded by murmuring conversation
The rattling of dishes in the kitchen
The cry of the baby two tables down.
It tastes good.