sometimes there’s that moment waking up
when all of the trivia of yesterday and today
floats around in my head like dead bodies
the war of society against the psyche.
it’s an hour too early and i could use some sleep,
so i listen to a relaxation recording,
some guy forcing his voice into his idea of a soothing whisper
and I think, i’m not feeling you, mister,
but I open up the soles of my feet anyway
to let all the thunderclouds and static out of my body
and i’m getting heavier and heavier like a good lab rat
when fully relaxed, i find i have no feeling in my fingers and two of my toes.
what the fuck?
so I put on the tibetan bells and the bamboo flute
and am thankful for the lack of words
although who knows where this is going
and then I hear a symphony of crows
screaming in the winter branches outside my window
and the crunch of boots as a daybreak commuter
or a parent heading for the bakery
trudges past on the frozen snow;
then comes the hard-heeled scamper of the toddler upstairs
vibrating on my ceiling
and a trapezoid of light on the opposite wall
attaching itself to a painting of the black madonna,
it’s corner pointing to the dove rising out of her head,
and i think perfection is a mystery that befalls us
in the most unexpected moments.