FACES

In photographs from over a hundred years ago
there is a fortitude in the faces,
they see more than themselves in everything.

Twice today I have made the same stumble.
That’s where the war chest is buried,
but it won’t unlock everything.
The mind starts drifting off
in unpleasant, mapped-out directions,
creating narratives that aren’t real
but could some day be.

All our lives we dreamed about it,
when none of it meant anything. The top is down,
all the money we ever made
belongs now to the wind.

Knowing what is coming, the tears in your eyes say:
I wish we could have met in some other time,
in some other place. The roles that society
has written for us
keep us from seeing each other’s divinity.
The space between us
turns us into broken, lonely people.
You can see it in our faces, we cling
to the last brick. We may keep missing
what is looking for us.

(November 2009)