A Sleepwalker in the World

 A Sleepwalker in the World

(“But God gives us the free gift of life forever in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 6:23b)

He’s a sleepwalker in the world,
from hallways to alleys,
from church aisles to turnstiles,
from cumulus clouds to accumulated sorrows;
he does not always see
the static fluidity
that flows through everything.

Some days are different, some eyes are open,
some skies are descendent, some pages close until
the proper time.

The doors are always open leading from tired sitting rooms
to wonders between the darkening rain and the snow that
mirrors the light; sometimes awakening desires
rewrite the pain.

This day the steam rose from the powdered hills,
white dotting the green
becoming pink as they meet above the sky. The
clouds were a thumbprint the color of baby’s cheeks,
the clouds identified their owner.

The steam that rose from the factory across the river
was an airy pillar supporting the snow clouds.
The river did not sing. Today it chanted in plainsong,
barely audible. Only those who walked toward the water
could hear the passage of time, of dreams, of loves left
on the banks and friends passing each other. Tonight
they might
share a beer and remember when they were young and
beautiful
and wide awake so late at night.

And the streams they began with verses and choruses,
were divine
though
they only discovered it when unearned joy
woke them from daydreams to circles, sonnets,
new earth, and ancient script with heaven begun
before the first breath was drawn.