I CAN’T SLEEP IN THIS BEAUTIFUL STORM OF TEARS
I can’t sleep in this beautiful storm of tears
that keeps showing me how much love there is in the world
now that I’m leaving it through the rose trellis exit
where there’s a drop of water on every
anointed thorn of my thoroughly wet eyelashes.
It’s beautiful loss that’s sad and scary all at the same time.
It’s a flashflood of emotion that thaws the frogs out
and gets them singing like small ice floes in a lily pond
clinging with polar bears to what’s left of the Arctic ice cap
that’s unravelling all around me like a snowman
riding its own melting into an oblivious mindstream.
Easy to love ordinary things now as if they were sacred,
domestic rituals, chores, objects, dust in the air,
dirt in an organized drawer, cracks in the plaster
diversifying the dinosaurs like fractured Pangaea’s skull.
The thunder and pulse of a lost drumbeat in the jungles of time.
Everything glows. Even the dark shines.
With an aura of beautiful mysterious numinosity
that polishes the dawn like a dusty abalone shell
on an opalescent day at deserted beach as long and wet as yourself.