Tuesday, January 7, 2020

Words at Sunset

The sun sets whenever it wants
And sends whatever rays it chooses
To most officiously end the day
On the one of 10 million earths
You have chosen, this moment, to be on.

Just as spring refuses to yield
To the bullying airs of the cold front --
It doesn't care about the pictures
Winter likes to present
Of something not yet achieved
And in need of a benign tyrant,
Blithely indifferent that you
Still have that memory
Of so many blossoms
You didn't know what to do.

... You, in your turn, have always opted for fear
-- The end in darkness everpresently near --
More beautiful that way (you now say),
To grieve in the moment
And then be told you were wrong
When new light comes to awaken the sleepers,
The ones whose enlightenment you thought was your job;

Even now you go with the angel you can see,
The known buddha, who lifts up his arm
In the sacred geometry of a martial arts pose,
So you can take the shoe pebble of a gift from his hand
To teach him the lesson that you yourself learn.

It may seem so futile,
With such burly clouds
Brazenly loitering the skies,
But there is no one where you are going
Who will show you such things.