The Coming Day
Inheriting tomorrow from my unborn self,
the warming sun of summers yet to arrive
pours buttery rays of heat backward in time
to greet my paler face, my shaded skin.
Even as entropy frantically scatters all things
and the random becomes more irregular,
I sift my own identify and catalog the grains
of a sand that undulates and crests like water.
Standing in the middle of an unwalled room,
amid the crowded crunch of too much perfume,
I single out the scent of my own salts
and find an irresistible smile for the animal I am.
The time of absent-minded tinkering is at its end
and so I stand by and let slip past the last sliver
of the last fragment of the very last second
of fearful impotence and disorientation.
The architect is returned from somewhere else
and the steel beams which he has ordered
wait in patient stacks at the site of construction.
I set alight the wooden planks of things
which I have nailed together in blindness
and see at last, in the burning that unfolds,
the steaming asphalt of a road made for me
that paves its way into the unshrouded future
like a pulse of ocean rushing into shore.
A brilliant sky beckons from the coming day
to guide my steps toward the naked moment
where my dreams and my flesh will make love.
About the Poem
This poem looks to the endless human capacity for change and reinvention and embraces the ideal that with each passing day we can draw closer to achieving our finest selves and our most complete humanity.
This poem is previously unpublished in print. This poem was finished July 9, 1999.