Light Like Wind

Light Like Wind

(“Some of them dismissed him (Paul) with sarcasm: ‘What an airhead!’ But others, listening to him go on about Jesus and the resurrection, were intrigued: ‘That’s a new slant on the gods. Tell us more.’” Acts 17:18b [The Message])

Poetry connects the dots from wishes to
heaven; the delicious passion that embraces
the hopes that few speak out loud for fear of
the intellectual’s scoff or the artist’s sarcasm.

Poetry switches the darkness taught by
reason and tilted culture; sending light like wind
that lifts our curious notebooks out the window and
leaves only frames behind, a way to rebuild our rhymes
with opened eyes; after our arguments unwind, torn
and scattered, new mulch upon the gardens.

Poetry passes as doctrine and massive mentality,
or eases under the baby’s naptime nursery,
and still names, before the revealing, the hope
that unspoken foes will not confess this side
of cursory lines of free versing.

There was no dress rehearsal, no quick change reversal
in case the stones would not budge as angels nudged it open
for a better look at the hints that misty prophecy left
like modern poetry.

Poetry embraces the phrases that pierce the First Morning
of the New Week’s fierce waking alarm. Death was empty
and the corpse missing. Ancient poets and current angels
created stanzas of Never Fear and Eyes unBlind.

Poetry pointed out truth’s anointed, led dead
upon the stone and wrapped, and bled, and alone. The
Laureate unleashed the Final Word that met no decay
but, to us akin, bloomed unpruned, the final Epic unforced,

Was the New Begin.