Although I can’t summon one,
I sometimes do notice
an Omen knocking
like a children’s choir in the distance,
a single leaf waving,
a small sense of danger
or the magnetic pull
of a group of teenagers laughing
raucously, unfettered by lock
and cage and consequence
but free.
Sometimes I cannot learn
any truth for a whole day
until a bird insists
with repetition from its tree
that I listen
and float in her sound far away;
until my heart dances
in clouds high and free
and slows. Then I can
release a little pain
and follow my heart. My fist
opens into to a palm. See
how real I am. No longer a trickster
- a butcher, baker, candlestick maker.
‘Why’ - ‘Because’
are he and she
in married bliss
like branch and tree.
‘Why’ gives a poke
to ‘how’, ‘when’, ‘where’
who put up smoke
‘here’, ‘there’
‘because’ runs in
from ‘near’ or ‘far’
jumps a fence
shouts “blah, blah, blah”:
“… and why does Goldilocks dream?”
“Why? Because of porridge!”
“… and why did Adam fall?”
“Because of knowledge!”
I know that look, yes, I know it
and - knowing it now - I take it everywhere;
everywhere and somewhere is home
to a quizzical look from you my darling
it’s a clear
gaze I copy whenever I want
to gaze out clearly blue on blue,
one eyebrow raising up at a slant
the other eye planting a question from you
but here’s a secret nobody knows
except you and me and a higher-up good
that such a good look is a look that grows
higher than heart or the sky or a bud
wondrously turning heart into heart.
I know that look, yes, yes I know it?
