THE NIGHT, FULL OF IMPOSSIBILITIES
That the cold lips of the night
would emit some insight.
That the coffee could stay hot
and poems would write themselves.
That our eyes could be awake forever.
That our burdens and regrets
would be as light as our shadows.
That our days could be full
of banquets and music.
That we would not speak before thought.
That the truth could wear
whatever fashion we desired.
That the world would not go
its own stubborn way.
That our lives could be our own.
That the cavities of modern living
would not swallow us whole.
That we could travel back in time
and right a few wrongs.
That we would let old sediment rest.
That all could have parents
to cherish and support us.
That we would grow wings
and flee from our fears.
That we could smile despite it all.
That the blossoms of our relationships
would not wilt and perish.
That each of us could understand
we are worthy of companionship.
That we would not lose all we love.
That our rage and violence
would be as voiceless as the moon.
That we could learn
to live within ourselves.
That the world would not forget our names.
MIDNIGHT VERSE XII
For Małgorzata Bruce
And night comes
with a gentle storm to permeate
the conduits of my blood.
And shy rain whispers
your name.
And lightning glints
in the empty planetarium
of my eye.
And a dark cloud carriage
bolts by the sickle moon.
And while you sleep,
the skittish night bird in my heart
sings songs of you.