We all are here, nerves and graves,
we, the todays and yesterdays.
The path of song runs through everyone.
The Olympic pool doubles the sun
while the winter moon halves it.
Humanity lives in its huts
with its gods and with its isms
(and every belief system is an ism –
why are there no isms of innnocence?).
Humanity divides its world with walls and fences.
How permanent! Yet how delicate!
are these stews in our kettles’ bellies!
Today’s chefs, prepare your tools and kitchens,
Lay out your dynastic friction.
Those urns, those ferns, those burns
– those tomorrows – those blurs –
they still await their turn.
And they hope to mature.
And they hope to endure.
But we hope they can sing us to better futures.
Lacking the doneness of death,
living has a possibility yet.
.
Duane Vorhees
Picture Rupert Loydell
.