Light, which is usually splashed carelessly around,
By the multitudinous habitations of the world
To fend off the vast darkness,
Is the same light
That can sizzle through steel in an instant.
The life force which animates my flaccid being,
Stretched out on the uncomfortable frame
Of a cane lounge I should have given away years ago,
Is the same life force
That through the green fuse drove Dylan’s flower.
Channel your energy; That’s the secret.
And a power in the universe you will be.
But if I were to begin
Cutting through life’s butter like a laser,
What would become of those moments
When I drink in the silence of your being,
Just a whisper in the shadows,
When I exhale tension in grateful release,
And breathe in the magic of a cool evening,
After a day of sullen, sodden heat.
The laser is an instrument of power and precision;
Perhaps that’s not what I was called to be.
I could be a torch though!
Powered by two batteries off the shelf,
Lighting the tree tops and the path’s end
As we walk.
November 14, 1987