Time

 

assuming we are the lucky ones,

no war, no disease, no end of world

what we're supposed to do then, 

with the gift that fell into our hands?

if we do not sit under playground hackberries

listen to mockingbirds trade and mate 

count perfect dots on emperors' wings

if we do not hike to sunset cliffs

let Pacific wind blow sorrow out of hair

dazzle at mama otters' gentle hands

if we do not lay alone under webs of blue stars

immerse in solitude with no rhythm or beats

amuse upon who we are and where we go

if we do not stumble off into thorny pits

bloody, torn, and broken

climb out, rest, and heal

if we do not spend whole morning in fear

shut eyes, open wings, and fall 

get up, open wings again, and fall again

what we're supposed to do then, 

with this gift dropped into our hands?