Wandering among the mountain peaks
that reach to touch the clouds,
the poet grasps for a parable,
something to reveal the meaning beneath,
in the valley
where the wind whispers secrets
and bending trees become dancers;
even the eagle gliding above confirms
a hidden sign,
waiting to be revealed.
To the poet the world is translucent,
nothing is as simple as it seems,
yet all complexities
can be translated
into the simplest common denominator.
Looking through a window, a mirror,
a turning wheel,
waiting till it comes around,
again.
The poet wears many hats,
none of which really fit;
forever changing clothes, switching roles.
Deep sea diver.
Heavenly flyer,
scanning the landscape
from a slowly deflating balloon.
Searching among the world’s junkyards
for a good find,
a cliché,
an important saying for posterity.
Through allegorical sunglasses
the poet shades himself,
protected from reality’s glare.
Turning illusion into parody,
delusion into a ballad;
from the balcony the star
belts out her tune.
Skipping stones on an empty beach,
kicking up dirt on a country road.
The sun stops and poses,
just for him;
shimmering on a lake
of no return.
Squeezing out of life
all that he can,
rejoicing in those little things
that others cast aside.
Eternal optimist
manic depressive.
A revolutionary
looking for a cause.
A believer in God:
waiting for God to believe in him.
The poet as prophet
to whom no one listens,
but who goes on speaking
to himself and the wind.
