for the world, after disaster
god speaks in a soft voice
as the world turns technicolor dawn.
it’s so easy to love.
you’d be surprised.
so i walked through the city
as it was falling apart. so i watched
those intricate and quiet lives burn
like buildings. tired of being
too big for their bodies.
and the windows.
wide open. catching the storm.
so i closed my eyes against the wind
of the end. listened to the whisper
in my ear.
aren’t we so beautiful?
doesn’t everything and everyone
matter so much?
so much. like the sun.
like a funeral pyre.
and burning. and saying:
we will move on from this.
we have loved. and we will love.
so i opened my eyes to a world in love.
with each other, the music,
the birds. enough to swell with it.
enough to dance.
and i sat in silence and i understood.
and i put on the music and i knew.
i saw it, the turning, the answers
hidden everywhere, singing
beneath my skin, turning
like the ever-dancing world, waiting
for me to give it the cue. the signal,
the lighthouse standing in the middle
of terribleness, saying the goodness
is the solution and i’m here, i’m waiting
for it, so send it over in whatever form it takes.
i locked eyes with the night.
warm gentle shimmering beast.
and it no longer mattered who made it
with their ambiguous and lonely hands
god or daughter or ocean:
it no longer mattered who wrote the story
with that soft sculpting voice of theirs
like every tragedy
was written in the tune of hope.
what matters: i’m here. you’re here.
and the world is becoming tender.
not as a result but
as a journey, one soft foot
planted in front of the other.
of course in the morningtime
everything shines a little brighter
but we can get away with a little bright-eyed awe
anytime we please. the more the better.
the secrets are in the swimming pool water.
the keys are in the floorboards
humming the song of goodness
like they were born knowing it.
as if they were found with it
scrawled on their palms like a name.
it’s true. the ghosts of love haunt everything.
they’re beautiful and terrible and true.
they’re calling your name
and mine too, and soon they’ll know it
by heart, the rhythm of this lawless earth
and all of its glistening people.
don’t ask what happened to us
to make us this way. don’t ask
what dark road we are walking down.
just ask for another day.
another chance to hold the rain
in your holy hands.
another chance to mend this.
ask for the truth, and also
the sorrow. ask for the love,
warm and shining on our shoulders
like summer rain.
it’s strange, these things we receive,
the way it all works together.
all this goodness painted blue.
all the terrible things a vision in their red dresses.
it’s an oxymoron, loving everything
here and now, being so tender
to this horrible world.
so of course
it is all i am. of course it is all i have.