Gift of the Horse
This day is full of nights.
Brightnesses of strange feathers; birds that align with the sky & take flight.
Small squeaks that get Big Grease, toxic Oil Spots on Troubled Waters.
Boats that float, by Grace alone; dirty Sailors and drunken captains that barely make the road home.
This day is full of nights;
broken bridges and soft blacktop that makes your footstep slop
land-waves and water-faults that sink a man up to the edge of his doubts;
cry-babies of politics and the often-wounded and rarely-dressed open books,
parading around with pages as blank as yesterday’s looks.
This night is full of days
signature scraps of diamond light reflecting in ten thousand different ways
glimmers of diamonds lost in the sand; white-gloved babies longing to take your hand;
the underfed and overweight looking for food, early to late;
This night is full of days
the weavings of humans, all trying to find the way
out of the labyrinth, into the trap, out of god’s uterus, launched off the map
only to fall into their own sap; the juices of life, no napkin to wrap
the light is full of light; let me count the ways
we can all find home; there’s a million sun rays
one ray is enough to burn my trembling hand,
to make all my wedding rings fall into the sand;
the light is full of light; let me taste the source: a mouth is a mouth,
and never think your gift will ride off on any other horse….