WAITING FOR THE RECOVERY OF OTHERS
I sit on my hands and wait for these bright pennies to earn the lessons of time. I dance my little dance and move on, dropping the pretense of patience. I search other forests, fields, and meetings and encounter many fine plums, though none are the gems incubating at home. I make acceptance my goal and breathe through my days. I watch the bulbs ripen and bloom. I wonder at their beauty, inhale their sweetness. I have lost track of my personal progress. I behold, with charmed dismay, the open chasm before me. I must turn from the flowers and let the new lessons begin.
Don’t show your broken places to everyone, but do show them to someone.
The quality of the poetry
is so dependent on the quality of the lighting.
Improve the color palette and yes, you’ve guessed the result.
So, I say to you, “Turn up the lights.
Do not write in half-dark grief and limp through the words.
Spotlight what you can and illuminate the rest.
You needn’t make a sound,
needn’t pitch a tent, needn’t build a bridge,
though you may, may if you wish.
And wish is what I do, wish for better light
and when the clouds break loose in the sky let the sun pour in.
I lift my pen and make it all;
for what was needed was this better light.”