Lost Worlds

Waking is an act of forgetting
we take as normal.

What worlds do we relinquish
What lives do we forget

by gazing through the window
and embracing daylight

I often try in vain to remember
the landscapes I have seen

before they disappear into
the creeping mist   This morning

a few words snuck through
amidst the usual casualties

to dream

I dream of a universe caged and free,
of contradictions reconciled
and ambitions blossoming
into actions as great 
as the spirit they were
birthed from. 

I dream of a more compassionate people, 
a softer noose to hang from, 
a better way to say nothing,
a silence that is profound,
a silence more powerful
than any word. 

Content From A Shoebox

you collect images the way some people collect

trading cards. they'll come in handy you say.

you're no writer or collage artist, you gather

them all the same.

a picture of a cat staring listlessly into the camera,

a woman sobbing,

the President speaking to congress,

the beach at dawn,

the cluttered desk of a stranger,

a picture full of pyrite,

the crowd at an anti-war rally,

your mother and father when they were young,

downtown LA in the 1930's,

a beautiful women wearing only her smile,

the field of Gettysburg after the battle,

Paris during World War II,

a portrait of your favorite writer,

you the first time you met your grandparents,

a forest of redwood trees,

someone you once loved,

bears catching salmon from the river,

the Andrea Doria on its side, ready to disappear,

a satellite image of North America at night,

the hands of two elderly people clasped together,

a princess awaiting her prince.

What is the next step?

Must there be one?