Ah, we say, what a life!
and yet …
We are the heirs of discontent
we carry all colors among us
to their inevitable conclusion
Our eyes are rising swiftly
under an aging sun
What nourished our forebears
we find merely annoying
All those Bible Prophets mute
as sacks of sand
To build dikes against
a flood which never comes
and yet …
here we stand
precisely in their footpads
Sitting at the changing tide
Beside the ancient harbor
Waves already lapping our feet
To the mantis
I am a soft, pulsating
Mountain
The trees, exhausted
abandon their leaves
to the crowing wind
Don’t look for wild geese
to lift the darkening sky
That inner burning
that leaves you spent
will also light your way home
A century of days
Each of them an equal part
Of forever
exiles child 