FREEDOM
It was a sudden feeling,
almost like the rush
of a shooting star across the sky,
or the setting free of sunshine
after days of storms.
He was sitting in the park
beneath a boundless tree,
when suddenly, there it was,
this feeling flooding over him like a river.
He sat still and felt himself
washing away on the feeling.
He let himself be carried.
He had come into this world
with cries of freedom,
and now he found himself free
on this feeling from nowhere,
with nothing important to do
but feel free.
...........................................................
WHAT HE DOES
He doesn’t surf or skateboard,
but he does hear wisdom
when it cries out.
He doesn’t run
with the best and the bravest,
but he does see simplicity
shining in a spoon,
or in someone’s shirt passing by.
He doesn’t go forth
with fire in his eyes,
but he does leave loneliness and sorrow
standing at the starting line.
He doesn’t always
attack his work with industry,
but he does have a shining appearance
when snow is falling.
.....................................................
MORNING SOUNDS
The sound of his breathing
is a mystery to him,
as is the sound of the drawer in his dresser
sliding open so he can find some socks.
It’s strange to listen
to the sound of mouthwash
swirling inside his cheeks,
or to the sounds of happiness
and sorrow balancing
and sighing inside him.
The marmalade on his toast
makes a sweet sound against his teeth
as cars speak in soft voices past his apartment.
He’s sure
there are countless amazing sounds outside
that he can’t hear –
trees expressing joy,
beautiful thoughts blowing across the country.
..........................................................
MOZART, STONES, AND TREES
He wanted to play
a Mozart violin sonata with someone,
but since he couldn’t play the violin
and didn’t know a pianist,
he went outside
and walked among stones and trees.
He saw the stones sitting precisely
where they should be,
and the trees taking each other’s hands
as breezes blew by.
He held his two hands out
and they folded together like friends,
and the trees and stones
stayed where they were,
and the time of day
was just what it must be.
................................................
THE BIKE RIDER
He knows all things are his --
the stones beside the roads,
the scraps of paper
scattered in the weeds,
the everlasting sunlight.
The gracious streetlights are his,
as are the unsurpassed coffee shops
and grocery stores he passes.
The swift-winged cars
that carry their precious passengers
to places destined for them,
the school buses with students
like lights in all the windows –
all these,
and the sweetness of his bicycle,
are his.
.....................................................
A MORNING BIKE RIDE
It didn’t exactly get his heart beating
when it started,
just a hesitant summer morning
singing its inconsequential song.
There wasn’t much to praise,
wasn’t much to raise
a smile to a face --
just a silver morning
with its gift of easygoing light,
just a quiet day coming his way,
just geraniums
shyly gesturing
in gardens beside the roads.
.........................................................
LOOKING FOR LIMITS
He sometimes tries to find
the limits of things like love.
Can you love only so much
and then it finishes at a fence
or peters out like a small stream?
Is love like a savings account
that could quietly come to an end,
and then no more money
or love? He thinks the answer
is no, for each day
he rides on a sea
that has no shore,
is borne along by breezes
that never began.
