Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

If I Could

I would write my way, if I could.
I would sing and right my way,
find myself in my becoming.

I would snap like the flag in the wind,
the tall plum tree, stand stately,
branches rising and falling in a graceful surge, a wave.
I would stand like that if I could.

I would ride like Sean on his bike,
a champion, on a courser.
I would be the sheen of the spinning spokes.
I would charge and sing glory into the charge.
If I could.

I would wake, rise from my bed,
go about my work with a fine, keening relish,
come home and find beauty in Sue's eyes.
I would do this if I could.

I would be the road under the car going by,
the sound of the bus she rides.
I would be footsteps,
the dirt swept from the walk,
the grass cut by the whirling blade.
I would be these things, I would.
If I could.

I would be the rose that blooms,
dies, in the corner of the yard.
I would be the rose across the street in Kim’s yard,
which also blooms, and then dies.

I would be the air pushed aside by the car going by,
the gravel crunching under tires.
I would be the basketball hoop,
the mailbox on its post near the gate,
the cigarette just put out.
I would be the airplane overhead,
the heat of the engine, the spark igniting the charge in each cylinder.
I would be the sound of it fading away.

I would be the sorrow of the boy crying,
the emptiness in the church sanctuary,
the squeal of the brakes.
I would be the red of her hair, the scent of her perfume,
the dress she wore the day the sun died in crimson flame.
All this I would be if I could.

I would be the blood in the heart pumping,
the adrenaline surge,
the tear falling from the eye,
the scream locked in a throat forever.
I would be the stars in the black sky,
the shadow of the cactus,
the sand by the side of the road.
I would be the wobbly wheel of the gurney, the sirens wail.
I would be, if I could.

I would be the caw of the crow,
the silhouette at the window,
the oxygen tube, the hospital bed,
the silk lining, the white rose on the lapel,
the dank smell of the newly dug hole.

I would be the blue sky, mountain on the horizon,
the tangerine ray streaming, spilling dawn down-slope.
I would let myself be all these things if I could.
I would keep them in my pockets, but I have no pockets.
Only my garments do.
Though if I had pockets, I would, I would keep them all safe.
If I could.

Read this earlier, nice to see your sweet side, Barry. Beautiful.