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Thursday

Forgetfulness

And now, brother, 

And sister, you are

Alive. 


You have opened

Your chest and planted

The seed of infinity. 


The roots have grown, 

And have drunk from

Hidden streams of gold. 


You are a freak of

Nature. No longer 

Just a son of earth, 

But now a son of sky. 


And all this has happened

Invisible to the naked eye;

Down in the depths of your

Secret soul. 


We are those who

Stare into the sun

With golden eyes.


We are those who 

Are not blinded by 

The blinding light. 


We are those who gaze

Into the perfect law,

With eyes aflame. 


And now the work

Of unforgetting. For 

It is work. It is great

Labor, our daily toil. 


For what has happened

Down deep inside your

Secret soul, though earth 

Bending, is quiet enough,

And slow enough, that 

You can forget. Yes, 

Child of earth and sky. 

You can forget

Who you are. 


For earth is close, and

Tactile, and firm, and sky

Is bright and far away. 


Sky is a longing. 


Earth Is a slap, or a kiss, 

Or a baby’s insistent cry at 

Midnight.

 

Earth is wet thunk of 

Teeth in golden peach,

Earth is the warm body

Next to you in bed. 

Earth is the bill in the 

Mail that fills your 

Chest with dread. 


And sky is longing. 


Sky is quiet, beaming

Blue, and when you 

Reach for it, it slips past

Every finger. 


And you begin 

To question how something

So far away could be 

Inside you, or a Father. 


And this is our work. 

To continue our gaze

Into sun and sky, with

Golden eyes, and remember, 


We are of the sky. 


Remember,

Like a story passed down 

Moment to moment, 

Day to day, like a song

Of generations, that


We are of the sky. 


For many have forgotten, 

And do forget, the sky song. 


And turning their gaze

From up to down, forget

To let the longing 

Of the heavens 

Fill their hearts, and so 

Their mouths and fingers,

With the things of sky. 


The ways of the light. 


Golden eyes tarnish and

Become dim. 


And they kneel down

And go back to gorging

Themselves on soil,

Fistful by distracted 

Fistful, 


As if they were only sons

Of earth, and nothing more,


And not sons of 

Brilliant blue. 


And so I plead

With you:  Remember. 




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