the goldfinch

 We get into some pretty deep conversations

My therapist and I

It’s not so much about

How I am doing, what happened in my childhood

In my week, but –

How can I be helpful in this insane world

What is this world

Who am I in relationship to it?

 

I am happy today, we seem to be getting to solutions

Ways I can improve my life, while I have not been trusting

That anything can improve

 

At a poignant moment in our discussion

A small bird flies up to the sill outside

I note a gold streak on its breast –

Not a sparrow, if sparrows could even fly to the 4^th floor

 

I call it to Marie’s attention

She looks, “by God, is that a goldfinch?”

It’s so tiny, so fast

It’s hard to get a scope on it

But it is a rare sighting

And the poor thing seems to be trying

To get inside the office, hovering for a half minute

save this world

let's do this together

let's make this happen

like we've seen in every movie

post-dating Star Wars and many before

like that blind-flying scene

feel the force

feel your longing

your love, with your full body knowing

let's make this happen

1    2     3

save this shimmering, ghost world

two for naught, with a tinge of glowing affect

the sky tonight, Matthew-catholic

rains like real men cry

blues shed their macho b.s.

grey interlaced

sun lost somewhere

in the thick grove

of gulls and electric wire, crucified

------

it's okay

the cold, a little damp

in the spring air

brings back the recognition

that life is not always cheerful

all will not last

indeed, happiness

as illusory as suffering

cannot be willed

or worked for, bought

or caught, but only received

as it passes, a dense forest

giving way to a cloudless sky

over a field and a pond

through the window

of a speeding train

to speak truth

turn to your right, cough

to your left, sing

in the middle, speak truth

but understand

truth is a complex affair

a paradox, a well-guarded secret

you must thread a needle

with your soul

to come close to it

and to voice it

climb a mountain

of mountains

to a sun made

of suns

better to just sing your joy

or at very least

cough your misery

that's as close to truth

as most of us 

will ever get

part of the problem

part of the problem

is, I never grew down

grew up, of course

but never deep into dirt

fingers caressing worms

never had the chance to know what I learned

see what I yearned

cross the bridges I burned

the sum total of all the worlds that turn

the endless river to the ocean

the seed of a world-configuring notion

pleads solemn for a place to take root

in my miniscule imagination

I have stumbled down the cavern to truth

opened my tiny heart to you

looking up

I

Yoko Ono's installation piece

John Lennon climbs a ladder

looks around and around the room

looks up, on the ceiling

the word, "Yes!"

II

at Einstein Bakery

always trained on books

phone and food

a moment within

curiosity fueled by despair, hope

a look upward

the top of the sun-illumined tree

framed by skylight window

no one better

no one here better

than a stand of grass

not one iota of seniority

over the dusk that shifts

its collusion with blue, yet darker 

to bleed of brown

and ecstatic hunger of smoky black

stars tell us there is never

reason for pride

we will revolve and solve

the mystery that begat us

the desire that ran us

off the roadways of grace

and we leave our children to the wolves

who teach them mercy, strength when needed

and the truth concedes its smallness

to cast shame on us, restore us to wholeness