A Wonder

What we have,
Until its gone:
A wonder that we never realize
until its gone.
The wonders of all we are.
We are wonders.
To be wondered about. To wonder ourselves.
As we wander about.
This way and That.
Here and back.
From New Delhi to New Amsterdam.
So consider it thus:
That we can consider at all
Whether to butter our toast or eat not at all…
Breakfast in bed, noon time lunch, a dinner with friends, a late night munch.
Such possibility in just how we eat.
And that we can even eat all.
On a grander scheme we can consider quite more,
than the individual meals of our own.
The amount of growth needed to maintain—
this balancing act we perform in the stars.
Of cycles of water, or cycles of soil,
Of cycles of rocks, cycles galore.
Or perhaps just a cyclist is all.
A lonely figure pedaling alone.
Striving, struggling, straining… to move along.
Can you picture that figure?
Chuggin’ along…
So so very alone?
Not anymore when you picture that figure and 6 billion more.
Mouths to feed, people to clothe, more more more.
Crying little ones coming all the time.
And they bring so much light from were it was they’ve come.
But they need so much life, just to survive at all.
To even think of love in this mess
is a wonder that can not be missed.
Try it with the doubt, you’ll see it doesn’t mix;
What one needs is faith, its opposite twin.
Of doubles we speak, then remember to meet:
With Triumph and Disaster.
And please,
treat both those impostors the same.
Hold your head high when you can walk on your own —
And never be ashamed to need help to walk at all.
Then let us wonder what these little lessons mean at all.
At the tiniest fraction?
Nothing at all.
At the largest part?
Nada, Nothing, Zilch. Z-ro.
It is somewhere in the middle that we can even begin to notice these moments at all.
Like a notice on some strangers door
Or a letter to love, thanking it for:
Existing at all.
And that is the wonder, the wonder of all:
That we exist to wonder at all.

And The Leaves That are Green...

Like a lightning flash it's gone
Never to return no more
Like your lover that’s left through that door.
As Dylan sings along
To the soundtrack of all that is going wrong.
So you think to yourself:
There are days, there are hours, when love leaves you
Without a word to bid you adieu.
Through the front door, into the cold.
Down the steps, you watch her go.
Fading into the night, like a poem you once meant to write...
Ho Ho.
Some days you’ll be happy. Others you’ll be saddened.
But as an equation, the summation is not that different
Than those days before she came.

The Joy of Song (Or, Why we Sing)

Tumbling…
I’m tumbling upwards.
Into the arms
Of
Blackened Stars.
Chaos mounting
In the cool sliver
Of life’s empty embrace
Visions of passing worlds
Ice and Fire playing in a field of heather
Billions of Voices crying out:
Alone Alone Alone
Like the solitary figure of
The UN-breakable redwood
Breaking. Crashing. Tumbling
No more No more No more
And I am alone no more
Upon this residence of Earth
Connected by:
The bustling market place
The sounds and scents of the farmers work
Ripe bursting ovaries of the earth
The sweet juice of the strawberry
Trickling down a child’s face
Like a stream that rushes headlong to the sea
that vast endless ether
In which the whale sings
For no other reason than to sing.