Finish to Begin

My knowledge extends only to what I know.
I know upon finishing this poem I will
get up from my desk, turn off the lamp
and see the growing light of the greater light
spreading across the porch making the things
of this world distinct.  Later, I will step out into
that light satisfied that the structures of the world
are in place to make it go around one more day,
or at least for the time it takes me to drive to work,
place the lunch I made the previous night 
on the break room counter and sit down at my desk.
But first I know I will finish this poem.

Decadent Decay

I said, "The conversation at last night's 
party showed happiness lives in the 
minds of the decadent few."

She said, "Yes.  It also revealed the 
desperate need to create possibilities
for new pools of laughter."

Thinking aloud, I said, "The beginning
of wisdom is just a monster of a text
to digest in one gathering."

She replied, "Human beings have been
gathering for hundreds of thousands 
of years in dark spaces."

I added, "And feverishly painting animals
on the walls of caves and cheering on
their favorite teams."

She said, "Hope only appears to narrow 
when those places are closed and decay
into the ruin that time brings."

What do you see?

Between running for the sacred peace
of a mourning dove cooing on the fence
and the frantic cleaning and straightening
in preparation for the arrival of strangers,
the way forward blurs into rapid motion,
into a newly awakened day where prayerful 
preparation can wait and, instead, the view
from out the train window at the rushing
cityscape and countryside gives way
to the question, What do you see?