EYES OF FIRE
Sometimes. The saga leans forward. The
fires burn. My eyes are like blemishes,
scorching a dry field - it's not always
anguish or doubt. At times it's just fury.
Like a boy with a boyhood bat, certain days
make me just turn away from the ball field
where the other kids play. Not chosen for
their team, I'll just take my bat and go.
Here's what I've concluded, after umpteen years:
the marvel of this life is in the never-diminished
pleasure it can bring. I see a star, I see a tree. I see
the river, always on the move and running by me.