Everything Is on the Hook

I like how my daily poems begin fresh with nothing
and how the land cannot heal unless the king heals himself
and how people go through their day crying, Fiddle dee dee.

There are plants living here below holding clues for eternity
while shipwrecks from long ago continue to carry treasure
and all the colors of the sky at sunset bounce off the clouds.

What we seek remains hidden inside houses of our own making
where our feet endlessly climb the stairs of our childhood
searching for answers to questions not yet asked of the air.

Patience is not a virtue when the damn breaks above our lives
and the horrors begin to spill out down upon our heads
washing us clean of everything we have held close and dear.

To live with those unasked questions in the midst of seconds
ticking into nowhere and somewhere challenges those
who live as if, right now, everything is on the hook.