FREEDOM

It was a sudden feeling,

almost like the rush

of a shooting star across the sky,

or the setting free of sunshine

after days of storms.

He was sitting in the park

beneath a boundless tree,

when suddenly, there it was,

this feeling flooding over him like a river.

He sat still and felt himself

washing away on the feeling.

He let himself be carried.

He had come into this world

with cries of freedom,

and now he found himself free

on this feeling from nowhere,

with nothing important to do

but feel free.

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WHAT HE DOES

He doesn’t surf or skateboard,

but he does hear wisdom

when it cries out.

He doesn’t run

with the best and the bravest,

but he does see simplicity

shining in a spoon,

or in someone’s shirt passing by.

He doesn’t go forth

with fire in his eyes,

but he does leave loneliness and sorrow

standing at the starting line.

He doesn’t always

attack his work with industry,

but he does have a shining appearance

when snow is falling.

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MORNING SOUNDS

The sound of his breathing

is a mystery to him,

as is the sound of the drawer in his dresser

sliding open so he can find some socks.

It’s strange to listen

to the sound of mouthwash

swirling inside his cheeks,

or to the sounds of happiness

and sorrow balancing

and sighing inside him.

The marmalade on his toast

makes a sweet sound against his teeth

as cars speak in soft voices past his apartment.

He’s sure

there are countless amazing sounds outside

that he can’t hear –

trees expressing joy,

beautiful thoughts blowing across the country.

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MOZART, STONES, AND TREES

He wanted to play

a Mozart violin sonata with someone,

but since he couldn’t play the violin

and didn’t know a pianist,

he went outside

and walked among stones and trees.

He saw the stones sitting precisely

where they should be,

and the trees taking each other’s hands

as breezes blew by.

He held his two hands out

and they folded together like friends,

and the trees and stones

stayed where they were,

and the time of day

was just what it must be.

................................................

THE BIKE RIDER

He knows all things are his --

the stones beside the roads,

the scraps of paper

scattered in the weeds,

the everlasting sunlight.

The gracious streetlights are his,

as are the unsurpassed coffee shops

and grocery stores he passes.

The swift-winged cars

that carry their precious passengers

to places destined for them,

the school buses with students

like lights in all the windows –

all these,

and the sweetness of his bicycle,

are his.

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A MORNING BIKE RIDE

It didn’t exactly get his heart beating

when it started,

just a hesitant summer morning

singing its inconsequential song.

There wasn’t much to praise,

wasn’t much to raise

a smile to a face --

just a silver morning

with its gift of easygoing light,

just a quiet day coming his way,

just geraniums

shyly gesturing

in gardens beside the roads.

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LOOKING FOR LIMITS

He sometimes tries to find

the limits of things like love.

Can you love only so much

and then it finishes at a fence

or peters out like a small stream?

Is love like a savings account

that could quietly come to an end,

and then no more money

or love? He thinks the answer

is no, for each day

he rides on a sea

that has no shore,

is borne along by breezes

that never began.