The Liberal Air

The Liberal Air

("So they were seeking to arrest him, but no one laid a hand on him, because his hour had not yet come." John 7:30)

The liberal air filled the lungs and enriched the red cells
of those who would capture the Righteous and arrest the progress
of the miraculous. The liberal air filled the lungs of
the Son of God as well.

Oh, front-liners, protectors of truth and keepers of the rules,
the same mud that made you, made them, made us; the
same air that enwraps the world in its invisible giftwrap
seeps between the cracks, mazes its way around leaves unfallen,
fastens itself to molecules we’ve observed for the world’s tiniest
percentage. Oh, storm-leaders, pressing the crowds backwards
to possess the real estate you’ve planted your hopes upon,
your conclusions are forgone, not because you wished for better;
you deduction is simply wrong.

I like the air that lets us fly while bystanders scratch their heads
and wonder why they cannot get their feet off the ground. Lower the
pressure
over my wings and let the time sweep the crackling folks whose
throats are sore from accusing left to right and back, into silence.
And give them a plaque unworded, a silly mirror of reminder.

The liberal air cooled the brow, stirred by angels, but mostly friends
happy to be so illiterate they never heard the indictment. The day ended
as it began, the peace of breezes winding through the evening. And time,
which never stands still, slowed the imperceptible passing of seconds
until the façade-squad and all gone home.

The few who loved the way air felt filling their lungs, enriching
the coursing blood and clearing their head of opinions unfounded,
rounded another corner with the Master, putting the matter to bed
until the next story He told wiped away one more conclusion about
why the air was so available and never taxable.