Three notes all it took
They knew they knew the tune
And skipped on by
They’re skippers or seekers
Searching for the unrecognized
The never heard
I’ve heard your notes
But never learned them
I rehearsed and I sang along
And I didn’t skip on by
The song is only a trickle now
I’m guarding it with my life
Like the last tributary
Of a once great river
Ran dry from drought and misuse
You are wind chimes and crickets
And leaves crunching underfoot
There’s this thing around us
We’ll call it the world.
In the world events are happening.
We’ll call them current.
The currents swell and wash
A path to the future.
We control current events.
We add our voice to the torrent.
We build the future.
I don’t recognize the frightened drowning bee until the cup hits my lips. I instantly spit it out, and it slinks off, out of sight somewhere, presumably to die without causing me any more discomfort. Righteous guy like that, dying the way it had lived, in kindness and duty.
He presented himself as
Virginia Justice, American,
Red, White, and Blue.
The Monk asked if he’d been in government in his day.
“I ain’t ever been involved in government.”
The Monk checked the blowhard, shoving him aside.
small so small
infinitely small
non-existent
so small I don’t exist
even within my own species
my own hemisphere
or nation or region
