Painful step, or does he need more stall rest
To nurse his limp, to no longer tremble
With fear. He shouldn't worry. He has a team
To soak his hoof in an epsom salt bath,
Make him lucky or unlucky, his choice,
Frequency of joy, frequency of sadness
To come to center point, to know what it is,
Where the sun's in the middle of the valley,
The place where everything makes sense,
Where one is present with the clarity of
What is, that is, one coheres, becomes aligned.
There's a moment when every photojo
Realizes the woman who won't let you near
Her kid's not protecting her from a boyfriend
But had pocketed the kid for herself
And knows the victim mode no longer works
And neither will the slow news day of
Driving to the PJs for 3-year-olds to deliver needles
For doritos, 9-year-olds shot dead for boots,
For you can finally see how to live like that,
How everyone has to independently decide
What they want and what they won't abide,
To take the venom of the snake to clear its bite.
Even in the towers, where the vistas are not stars,
They still could be, there's always the opportunity
To not have that, to seek the higher ground always
-- But that is not a decision that is yours to make.
The mirror world was planned, as universal law,
One that even the oak trees here can feel,
Stretching for some meaning towards the sun,
Shining like armor, each leaf inquisitive
To the feeling self, like all of Mother Earth
Arms at the ready, but not yet knowing what
To do, and how to reach us, limbs twisting with
The electricity of being, nerves janky
Trying to cope with love and all that it is not
In their stillness and vibrancy, stars flying
In late light around our eyes in the form of
Gnats and what are flies to God but ... God?
