O

my

little

heart, soft wings

feathery with hope

and fear and dread, be steady now.

Find the wind's sure pulse, and beat, beat

the rising rhythms of the gentle air, and beat, beat,

let your fluttering find firmness

soaring light. With faith

and love, keep

steady

my

heart.

Those

who

can, should.

All the rest

of us must teach, teach,

until we finally start to learn

that to teach is to enter the learning, stoop to squeeze

through the tiny, child-sized passage

where the kingdom is

glimpsed through the

needle's

bright

eye.

Dusk
comes

when dust

encrusted

light descends, and bends

the clouds in loud, fantastic hues;

cues for this proud day

to end, just

as all

days

must.

In

bleak

silence

we wander

under flame and cloud,

achingly hungry, and tired of 

bewildering bread. We crave yeast. Who knew redemption

would involve so many blisters,

and so few onions?

Even tears

might quench

this 

thirst.

We
went
to see
the dragons.
Enormous cables
suspended their bones from the roof.
Safe behind velvet
ropes, we gape:
their fire
gone
out.



Old
brass
labels
spell ancient
words long rusty, cold.
We shiver.
Dragons
are
big.


Long
dead,
stripped of
flesh, fire, and
fable;
now
they


 are
 quite



safe.

It's

not

as though

you can leave

the leaving behind.

Stay or go,

you still

have

left.

O

poor

spirit,

you are blessed.

In your rise and fall

remember that the one who sits

in the heavens laughs, and his laughter is the laughter

of a tender father watching

his children play; but

only if

that's who

you

are.