Western Sunrise
Have you ever watched something being born?
It’s always a lot different being there yourself.
Something comes out of a closet and
Gets set on a shelf.
Jimi Hendrix walked through his guitar.
Worms put things together inside tents and
Come out moths with butterflies in their stomachs.
We watch or endure the pain of such fluttering
Leaving more to survive than there were before.
Balance is never satisfied with itself.
It loops and turns back on its haunches
Rearing our opinions as life goes on
Playing find and seek
Positions our gravity's footwork and nervous roots
Hope to find some standing room, to loam in on.
Breasts that squirt at the sound of a baby’s cry.
We’re often surprised and thankful for the colors
That do shine in our kaleidoscope lives.
It’s happening again you know.
Behind your back, in front of your eyes.
Jumping off our shelves and joining others
Who find a place to dance and live life
Jangle together like change in a pocket
Spending ourselves different ways
Depending on what we’re talking about.
Something’s being born while others bare and claim
Their precarious situations
Trying to accept change in solid things
Purple roses on a yellow trellis
Bloom from razor studded stems with
Brilliantly waxed medium to jade green.
I don’t always tame myself to the atmosphere I’m in.
We put up crisp pastry shells around
One another’s messy situations and make
Pies out for ourselves
Storing our lives up with too many forks and knives.
Spooning in and out of
Hunger’s raw willingness
A belief that we will eat
When is the can opening question
We chew on all the time.
I don’t worry about any of my appetites
Until one of them comes along . . .
Like watching something being born . . .
With a wide angled lens that
Rides away like a cowboy
Into its Western Sunrise.
