The Ants

His wife had awakened him 

in the middle of the night 

with a grand gesture

towards their bedroom door.

“They’re coming!” She exclaimed,

and through the fog of sleep

and a darkened room he peered 

in the direction she pointed.

“What is coming?” He asked.

“The ants are coming in the door!”

He placed his hand on her extended

arm and pushed it down to the bed.

“You’re dreaming.  Go to sleep.”

His own dreams were troubled 

and the sensation that his back

had fallen asleep annoyed him, 

all prickles and movement of 

a thousand determined bodies.

They carried him down the stairs,

his dreaming body nearly weightless

in the unwitnessed darkness.

Birdsong awoke him lying 

on the grass, hair dew-speckled,

the steel cable of reality now just

a thin thread wafting in his head.

***

An Infinite Sea

He’d grown up in a backwater of Mars 

amongst crumbling infrastructure on the 

“outer rim of the dreaming dead city”.  

And from there his family’s fortunes had only slid

planet by planet, away from Mother Earth

farther and farther into the growing void.  

He had no secret lineage or 

latent super powers to save him

like in the stories he consumed.  

His father had spaced himself 

shuttling back from the asteroid mines 

leaving them to fend for themselves.  

He was a boy born to a time and place 

that seemingly did not want or need him,

but really only could not fathom him.  

He was a dreamer in a time when dreams were drying up 

as the solar system shrank, dark and depleted, 

hollowed balls used up and bobbing on an infinite sea.

***

restless creature

What does a restless creature do?

It flits and floats, up and down, 

forward and back and side to side, 

an untraceable line to an unknown 

destination, like an orphaned bird 

knocked from its nest and looking 

for a home that is no longer there.

***

Creator of Worlds

You are a magician, a creator of worlds.

Your mind perceives what can be,

sending out and bringing forth 

good gifts or rotten fruits, by choice.

You are a full participant, a shaper of reality.

If what exists behind your eyes is guarded

and dark, expecting the worst from others,

that is what returns to your shuttered keep.

To see what is true, right, and lovely changes

not only your heart and mind, but other’s

as well, like a particularly virulent virus that 

burns away wickedness with a terrible fever.

The love of God is an all consuming fire

that purifies through the pain of suffering.

It heals and destroys simultaneously

leaving only that which will always endure.

***

I am the Left Hand

It hadn’t occurred to me before,

while at the gym snatching up 

the dumbbells one at a time to 

return them to the rack, reaching

down and readjusting so that 

my right hand was the one to 

grab hold with a confident grip,

not even thinking about it.

I am the left hand

The less confident appendage

that asserts itself in surprising 

ways (in sports, for example).

It stays out of the way in a near

constant state of unobtrusiveness

until the time is right and it 

swoops in to save the day 

like a crooked-bill bird of prey. 

I am the left hand

Not a leader, but not exactly a 

follower either, someone who likes

to work behind the scenes because

too much attention saps my will

and clouds my brain with foreboding. 

A wise book teaches there is

one body with many parts and 

the world needs us all, every one

and I am the left hand.

***

She's Terminal

She’s terminal, well, we all are really

a few days, weeks, months, or years

the big sleep can catch us napping

so let’s stand vigil together allowing

for both laughter and tears, thankful

for every single moment of a life that

is like the flash of a firefly in the dark.

***