A Poem a Day (370): The unclearing

 

 

 

The unclearing

 

We wash a childlike glee

out of our hair, out of our day,

filling the blanks with lists

of things we need to do.

 

Endless tasks, pigeon holes,

tanked-up ideas newly flown,

and trivial are our dreams

held up against the real world.

 

We live in caves without walls

beside oceans bereft of waves,

lit by a sun gone AWOL

in a sky no longer seeking blue.

 

We stand. We sit. We sleep.

We talk of things in double prose,

hunting words we long forgot,

fixing them into sentences too small.

 

Everyone waits for the wind to blow

from the east, the great unclearing

of dust and rag and bone,

rattling this cage of sameness

 

to breathe in a life unworn.

It rushes in with an open door,

born of thought, bearing truth,

smoking what we lost along the way.

 

 

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, February 3, 2021