Faith, Health, and Other Musings
May our minds flourish with creation, and may our hands never deny its expression.
Standing
in the
brutal air
of a blizzard,
I think,
longingly,
how
unexpectedly
fortunate
the flakes are
to have fallen
where you sit,
caressing you
as they descend.
Startled,
I look down
to find myself
standing
in a pool of water;
the snow has melted.
I think we’re drawn
into cold, unilluminated humans
because we believe there is
— there has to be —
something greater
unseen beyond
that shadowy veil,
something
inestimable,
protected,
inaccessible.
So, our imaginations
run unchained:
the more unyielding
the object of desire,
the more alluring,
the more opulent,
we fashion the world
that must flourish within them.
And we scale the walls,
taking daily pains
to climb a little farther,
until we crest the edge,
only to find a flickering street lamp
suspended above a littered lot,
with Sadism leaned up against a rusted barrel,
taking a long drag of her cigarette
and picking at old scabs.
