TURNING WATER INTO WINE

Woke up morning after morning
thinking all closed doors would soon be
open. There would be magic and thinking big,
bringing something new to the table, a world
waiting for me to change it. I could step out
and see the city lights. (It was a relief
when they didn’t open.)

Once in a while, though, one does open,
or lets in a little shaft of light through
the bottom, just to tempt me. But when
that happens, I’m never where I want to be,
so I don’t go near them. But it makes you wonder:
who’s writing the future?

(29 August 2006)