hope
waits
in the wings
secretly wishing
for a big break
as the plot unfolds
desire
unchecked
is reckless
ignoring the cosmic order
constructing a plan
masquerading as serendipity
in a costume
ill-fitting and frayed
while patience and trust conspire
to tempt the hands of fate
true instinct
runs
naked
unabashedly
inviting the sun
and the rain
to dance
restless wizards
bored with the status quo
secretly
cast their spell
whispered incantations
drowned out
by the magnetic
push-pull
nature’s way
of manipulating
the elements
hypnotizing
her subjects
forms morph
from known to new
mysterious
delirious
like children
never tiring of the why
satisfied only by
the ongoing search
for basic truths
driven
to distraction
without a map
no crystal ball
to predict the outcome
or measure the risk
fueled by emotions
steered by wants
trapped in a tenuous dream
where fields
of four leaf clover
point the way
butterflies ride shotgun
and the vision of cloud nine
in the distance
keeps me behind the wheel
--both feet on the gas
if only
i could
trade my arms
for wings
if i could
shed
this heavy
human shell
i would fly
away
melting
into a cloudless sky
if i could
soar
with the red tails
in a graceful arc
along arbitrary boundaries
across cultural divides
casting shadows
upon hypocrisy
drawing circles
around inequity
praying
for peace
would that be purpose
enough?
how do they stay
so metered
the balance eludes me
i crave the crescendo
peaking and falling
wave after breaking wave
in rational moments
i long for grounding
envy their patience
their consistency
i even try it on for size
it feels sweet and smooth
but it won’t stick
before long the costume
drops to my feet
as i blast off
to the next great thing
you promised
the impossible
and i believed
you were a magician
pulling rabbits
out of thin air
but once i could follow
your slight of hand
the intrigue was gone
and i crashed to earth
a marionette
with no strings
paralyzed
by the knowledge
that there is no return
from the chosen path
only more forks
in the road
think back -
surely there was calm
before the storm
wasn’t the brain neatly divided
into tidy little segments
of productivity
patiently waiting their turns
now this bastard child
growing like a weed
spreading like poison ivy
pushes to the front
demanding
focus
on the task at hand
in full concentration
search for the perfect phrase
nothing comes to mind
the child again
shoves through
a new approach
this time warm, soft, hot, sweet
melting
practice begets strength
but more likely
time distance
softens the edges of memory
starve the child
shrink it to a pea
weakening the cries of passion
to a dull moan
of blame
dog days
come and gone
and like lines
in the sand
erased
by the tide
summer
slips through my fingers
songs once sensuous
and sweet
turn urgent
and shrill
crickets
signal the beginning
of the end
and my heart
beats heavy
sinking
through a hollow spirit
pounding out
circadian rhythms
echoes
from the past
and the future
little consolation
for the present
a stubborn reminder
that fair is fair
and nothing
is forever