I believe there is a day we might see
beyond ourselves, and those inadequacies
willows understand once swept-up
in boiling turmoils of blinding sand
and grit, the underwater churning, gasping
for either breath or grip with nothing
else on their minds. I believe, perhaps
have even seen, looked ‘round the roster
of characters and wondered who the hell
was pulling strings, and why? But I
believe we will prevail, what humans left
to sail our ship to a better place. The ground
is gone, no virgin wool waiting for Leather
Stocking British impudence, the good
soil has been farmed for centuries, and
the best of it planted with short dreams
of long rides into black and white sunsets.
But we lose heart when it counts most,
trying to forget from where we’ve come,
already shaking hands and hosting social
occasions, as if the last election meant
something. I believe that we will see our
neighbor’s bounty as our own, that the sweet
fruit comes from well-beyond our city limits.
drycrikjournal 