Michael Carroll Green

     Without eyes to strain, or a heart to break,
we grow lazy in our cells.
     We burrow in blankness–
becoming ever more muted by the dark. 

With no breath in sight,
	we forget that once we took air in rough gasps. 

Once. 

	Before we gave that up;
choosing instead to trade secrets with moist earth. 

Dimly we recall that somewhere above us
	the struggle continues.

Air is won and lost every day. 

In the end, though, 
        Time passes.
	
Forgetfulness wins.
        Interest wanes.

The ease with which the earth moves
         lulls us back into laziness. 

All is well without the world,
	so long as we remain in slumber.

Sleeping in secret.
	Keeping company with shade.

Standing more nearly within reach of salvation 
makes turning back into oneself 
less an option than a curse. 

This desire to unwish oneself
is an odd attraction.

Like trying to unbloom a flower
that is already standing tall in the field, 
or unmake a baby 
already in love with the idea 
of walking on its own.

Watch­ing Wind.

Walk­ing this new land­scape,

I am made mind­ful of a strange­ness.

The very air around me sens­es its approach.

And so I stop. Stand still.

And there, Wait­ing, I Watch Wind!

See It chase Itself,

wet and win­try white,

across the moun­tain­tops to my left –

See It come rolling diwnbn,

crash­ing into my pres­ence,

and the land­scape, and the land.

It runs,

reck­less,

like some moon-made wave,

push­ing clar­i­ty before it,

and forc­ing truth to find solace

in what­ev­er crevase it can find.

The land, now obscured from pry­ing eyes,

grows damp with antic­i­pa­tion.

The land Falls beneath the wind’s white embrace.

It suc­combs quick­ly –

Qui­et­ly!

Like a lover long ignored.

I watch the Wind!

And still I stand –

But now …

Blown back.

Back –

To a sense of child­hood.

To a land where the smoke curls,

and the wind runs ram­pant through the for­est,

whis­per­ing of sun­light

and of secrets it could tell.

Blown Back!

Back to Sun­day School and Sum­mer –

Before breezes drew me out.

Then drew me down!

I felt the wind then, as now.

Felt its pas­sion!

Felt its cool­ness

come cas­cad­ing down around me

like the arms of a lover.

Felt –

Free!

Can you tell?

And now,

in this place where the land­scape

has no secrets left to tell,

I wait.

And I watch Wind.

Observation –
What is matter?
What is truth
but someone's lie!

We are creatures
prone to evil –
God's Incarnate,
Born to die!

What happened to the consciousness
that I once knew as you?

What consequence has captured it,
what cloud obscured my view!

Which turn was taken out of sight,
what confidence betrayed!

Which dream washed out in sight of land -
while innocence decayed!

I am down in a low place now -
Broken down,
brought low to the ground!

Sometimes . . . 
 I think i hear hearts pass - 
Sometimes simpler forms than these,
Sometimes.

Sometimes i lay beside myself
and listen to the trees!

While i lay down,
while I lay low, low to the ground.

Did you hear the race today?

I did. Hidden here, way low down!
I heard the race, I matched its pace,
I dreamed I brought it down.

Down where i am. Laid low now.
low to the ground!

Whirlwind!

Where is the ground?

I'm sure it was there before. 
Some time.

Some time,or other.
Some time,
I felt grounded.
I know I did.

Felt sometimes safe. 
Always at home. 
Where is the ground now?
Where is the ground?

Some time. 
Not now, though. 
Not while I'm flying. 
I can't return while flying free. 
While I'm flying . . .
too near the Sun perhaps. 
Like the ancient Greeks, 
I'm flying near the Sun.

Did that father weep 
when his Son fell down? 
When he flew too high, 
when he lost the ground.

Like that Son so long ago, 
I fear that I've flown too far. 
Too far to save, perhaps, 
and always in the Sun!
Near to it. 
Drawn to it. 
Like the moth in search of fire.

Where is the ground now? 
I need the ground I think. 
Need it near me! 
Bring it back to me!  
Ground me.  

Ground me, 
but not too fast for falling. 
I could fall in just a second, 
I could fall
without a sound.

I would – 
Fall. Flat down.

Where is the ground? 
I would touch the sky today, 
but only if my feet could touch the ground,
and find me,

Insecure! 
Where is the ground? 
Where is the Sun? 

Where is . . . 
comfort and conclusion? 
Where is my stabile new solution? 

Where is the ground?