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Friday, January 15, 2010


They are standing on the edge

Of the stair, gazing at the jewel

That is the dawn unfolding, neither

Afraid nor apprehensive. The day

Will cascade upon them, then through

them, wiping its silly smile across

All that lies before it. A blessing

Of a kind, but without the quiet

Voice that calls the powers to itself,

Dispersing again in a million

Amens. They drift before

The wave crashes, before the fire

In the fireplace really takes hold,

Declaring the memory of trees

To the damp air, before the clanging

Bells that threaten to topple

Childhood, clear water and singing

Into a collective murmuring of illusions.

Still they stand before it, eager to be

Enveloped. This is the world, for heaven's

Sake. What choice is left at this point?

We kiss it full upon the mouth,

The surface of the eye floating

Scars and image alike, a gray morning

Suddenly relieving itself of the clouds

And exclaiming at the green presents.


—D.R. Wagner

The light beginning to crackle and glow

Around the buildings on the horizon.

In traveling through this place

We have no idea why such a phenomenon

Should occur. It’s rather like a

Small child being born and immediately

Becoming recognized as a great king.

What are the chances of such a thing?

The evening scoots down the low hills

As if it were another child, on a slide,

Being called to dinner just as he

Finally gains his spot at the top.

What to do? Come home now?

Sit down, press one’s legs into the

Sides of the slide and take as much

Time as possible to descend to the ground.

Everyone will understand somehow.

When we reach the bottom of the hill,

The entire landscape looks embossed,

A storybook cover one could run one's

Hand over and still feel the real worth

The story has to hold. No one has

Visited this place below the hill

For so long we have forgotten the songs

That used to be sung about it.

We believe we are making up a new song.


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