Grant a Child

A wish, she will be pleased.
Grant a soul a child, well,

Like a child with a wish,
The soul will be so thrilled

For a while, will sing songs
To the child, will write verse

For the child, will take note
Of all things the child does,

And then, like a child’s wish,
The soul’s wish for a child

Will seem like a loved chair,
A warm scent, a thing there.

A grant can tempt a soul
Or a child to think, Well,

I have that now, have had
That for a nice long time,

Will have and have that still.
Don’t think so. Soul and child,

We’re not like days and nights:
We can’t match all our hours;

We can’t know we’ll be back.
Once in a while, take time

To sing, write a fresh verse,
Grant a wish to your child,

That whole world with deep eyes
Whose dreams want to run wild.

Rip in the Net

Which is bad, if you need fish to eat,
And could be good, if you’re a snagged fish.

How much of life is like this, lose-win?
The sorts of folks who hope to lead teams

Like to say their games can be win-win,
Since win-win is what makes two a team.

It’s not grace. It’s shrewd, or it can be,
But it’s not true math, not pure, not sage.

It means you shoved off loss to a place
Where a life not one of yours lost it.

What’s grace is to need the fish but let
Your side down, Rip, to not mend your net.

Dub.Sar

Their dust links the stars with all else.
Light drag: what gets knocked free then gets

Thrown and pulled through space as the light
Tugs at the lines. Some dust lands here.

Some of us find it, write on it,
Think long and hard, count bits of it.

While the rest of us fight to eat,
Fight to keep a place to live, fight

To be heard, to be loved, to fight,
A few hold jars that hold the dust,

And, as well as fight, squint at dust,
And, in hours we don’t have to fight

To breathe, to eat, to find a place
Safe to sleep, safe to be, we write.