The falling snow says it’s okay to hide.
We have a blanket under which to consider
The extremity of our emergency –
An emergency of perception, of consciousness
And understanding –
Our human connection to all life
And even to each other
Now a topic for debate.
We’re watching a battle of storytellers
The eloquent and the unintelligible –
Given equal time by the conmen.
The most appalling thing is how well organized
And constructed the shell game was,
Each move calculated to hide the worst crimes
Amidst outrageous and unbelievable acts
That must be fought singly.
Meanwhile, they tighten their grip on us
In their aeries which we cannot enter,
Even with the tallest ladder.
Does that sound too abstract?
In fact, the stage of action happens
On the plane of imagination.
A battle of ideas where the key to winning
Is to link up soul to soul.
Keep reaching out to grab another hand,
And reunite,
Until our majority is too obvious to ignore.
And if they attempt to divide us,
We remerge, incorporate our limbs
Drawing into ourselves
New strength.
One act at a time, one hand at a time,
Even one poem at a time,
Until our long body of separate segments
Joins and begins to hum –
You can hear it like a song –
Beneath the snow,
Without words and more powerful for that.
Our one long body sheds its skin
Uncovering the deep and vibrant pattern
There all along –
Our deep mobility – now freed from
Counting steps.
We glide into our own future,
Orienting ourselves by
The heartbeat of the earth.
