Something Came to Me Last Night, but Now I Can't Remember What it Was...
I sometimes cringe at the thought of now,
especially as the moment dies and I forget;
and it happens over and over as I invoke the death of time and time and times,
but that's only until I forget and, oh yeah, I need to repaint the damned fence...
...The voice: "A bargain! A new phone! A hand to hold!"
it sounds in rhythm and with rhyme similar to echoing dreams and distant wilderness.
We sway as each wind or breeze passes, a blessing for each curse-
but that's because we didn't get up nearly early enough or with a vigor
for newly forgotten values and the falling, rising, or ‘stagnant’ price of oil.
The cookie jar is open, friends,
and I am going to the store for a few things-
Oh, and please forget about that cookie jar...
Our leaders crow while thinking similar secrets aloud;
But it’s not the same for the rest of us who live in smaller houses
or teach or preach or work like missionaries do,
because behind the wall of neckties and Old Spice is an allergy
to analogy and logical sequencing-
another beanstalk for another adventure in imagination,
yearning like a seed in a sodden pasture, deep brown with the moisture of
last winter's snow and bed of ruined grass from years gone by.
A new refrain:
You'll know the miracle when it comes, friends,
and from those transformations blossoms erupt-
as from beyond death's dream kingdom and an underused hope in Gods.
Indeed, Arcturus, guardian of the bear ascendant in the springtime takes the sky again
as winking Capella, that little goat in the winter heaven, descends into memory-
we, too pass beyond the dance between now and then
and as crossings become more shared
above winter’s miasmal fog at the hand of dismal cold,
and this reemergence of hope rises, gently smoothing the hill's hair of grass
and greening the corn just now stirring in hothouse soils.