I only dream
that the first time is the only time
to do something.
I only dream
that no one can find complaint
omission or regret.
I only dream
of polished perfection
in momentary introspection.
I only dream
and roll my eyes
at expectation of perfection
your rejection of infallibility
is nothing to do with me.
I looked for you.
I peered deep into your eyes
searching.
You were not there,
the hollow globes blinked blankly,
soul flown,
arms embracing expectation
empty future.
I looked for you.
You were not there.
Tomorrow I will look
again.
I’m through
with being split in two
three
four.
No more trying to be
too many of me.
Finally,
the best is there is to shine,
when troubled is the rare and not the rule,
where expecting excellence
is rewarded,
not met with whines.
Once, I’d have wept to leave this team,
but now it seems we’ve seen the best
and sweeping up the mess
is all that’s left.
It makes it easier to say good bye
When a dream is dangled before your eyes,
and so you reach, because like me,
sometimes you’re surprised by victory.
Now I can be
just one me,
doing what’s my specialty.
It’s passing through time
moving on time
gotta go time.
It’s we’re through here
all done here
wrapping up here.
It’s wear the gown time;
cross the stage time;
toss the cap time;
No more waiting!
Celebrating
Graduating.
Just when I think there’s been a change
Just when I think the brain’s been rearranged
Just when I think obstacles have been constrained
There’s a smash, crashing return to the old
The opening petals refuse to unfold
The rebirthing story will not be told
Just when I imagine, my hope’s short-changed.
Reality is bitterly cold.
My expectations are really what’s strange.
They say
you can’t get blood from a stone,
but there you are
grinding
and bleeding from the effort.
There you are
releasing your hard heart
and weeping change.
Oh sure,
it hurts to be stoned
It’ll kill you, if the impact
hits the right place,
but a bloody stone
is only a reminder
of your strength.
Stones were once mountains
Worn by time and pressure
your mountain has become a stone,
and from your tight grip
drips
blood.
Some days
I feel like a little kid standing against a ruler:
“You must be this tall to ride.”
Stretching beyond all comfort,
but still coming up
short.
I feel your humming.
Though you are far,
the vibrations of your present loss
reverberate.
I am humming
remembering you
near
nearer
nearest
wrapped around
my memories
squeezing like
a garbage compactor
humming
as it crushes
moments into
memories.
I heard the rumble of
my grumblings
and wished
and wished
and wished
for what was glorious and joyful
what was fun and focused
what was
ah
what was.
This is uncomfortable
unsettling
unsatisfying
unbearable.
I heard murmuring
everywhere.
Everyone
grumbling
wishing
wanting
longing
for what was,
what no longer can be,
looking
for change again.
Everyone
and
me.
The shape of this idea
is new,
resolving conceptually around
a
round
never-ending
novelty
what the mirror reveals of me.
The shape of this idea
greets daily astonishment
as “You can be” turns out to be true.
Who knew?
Shawn L. Bird 