The Letter
In the turn of the storm
As the birds race by
The dark clouds of confusion seem to blanket all
And even the silver knife of the sun questions it’s sharpness
We squint through the stinging sleet and brace our feet
Seeing little but the wheel and the white face of our doubt
But when the port finally appears
It is more often on the tides of surrender
Than by the compass of our fears
And the crack in the black of the sky
Is the smile of a playful God
Asking only that we try
And the day we sit like wet cats
Steaming on the dock
We will celebrate the “why not”
Not the million “no’s” and nay-sayers thoughts
Look, there ahead, among the arms of a typhoon
There is a beckoning, a dare
Let us read this provocative letter
By the light of of a brand new moon
(2013)
