Near the Final Display*
Meaningful things become the most dangerous.
Leaping into futures like stone walls.
If they were children we’d lead them by the hand
to alabaster fountains.
Wishes only ascend stairs. We need the pause
of deliberation that waits at that bottom-most step.
Rising like the scent of dry summer grasses, kindling
what would be wild and free. There are no
distant storefronts. No tradeoffs. The blooms
were decay waiting out the wilting.
Sleep-in. Miss the sunrise. The horizon functions
perfectly on its own. Look for the gate at midday
that swings on the hinges of survival.
There may be no redemption, but there is shade.
With bulging pockets, that may be as far
as we get to wade in.
*Previously featured in Lily Literary Review