Wipe the Mist from the Mirror

 Wipe the Mist from the Mirror

(“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” Psalm 51:10)

Fingerless, I might play the piano with my nose.
Noiseless, I might write music by ear.
Sightless, I might learn the codes of braille.
Senseless, I might miss the first note of the rest of the song.

Painless, I would dream forever.

Imagine a room, maybe 10x10, in which everything you own,
everything you are, has been collected. There is room

For nothing more.

Imagine that room shrinking by dimension, by degree,
by minutes, with no guarantee which possessions you will keep,
and which will be inaccessible for days at a time.
What dreams can fill the shrinking hopes you
once wrote on vision boards of the mind.

Maybe a walk will expand the walls,
maybe a kiss will ignite another passion fit for smallness,
maybe another drink will cancel the claustrophobia,
maybe another vacation, a trip around the globe, will
force the rusted doors open,
maybe you can begin again.

Blind, I could sing. Deaf, I could read.
Dumb, I could hear the music of love and play it loud.

But Pain is a thief, Pain is a headband of steel,
Pain is unrelenting, Pain rarely gives my spirit relief.

If only my heart could be clearer, if only an unknown hand
would wipe the mist from the mirror. If only I could remember
the chord patterns of expansive youth. If only less time
was burgled by the black-robed pain.

Sometimes kings take advantage.
Sometimes dreams are recanted.
Sometimes second lives never make it to the fair.

Pain has deferred the dreams. Create, O God, a world fit for
these smaller dimensions of my lately visions.