Sometimes a man comes whose walk is the habit of winds,
Who negates the ambush of alcohol & drugs
And this cruelty of boulevards called “the life.”
Sometimes a man like this becomes the schooled body
Of the schooled soul, whose healing is an utterance,
Who menaces with light, whose passion is a
Mathematical caring, whose wisdom is a laughing spear,
And whose scars are the secret language of home.
Sometimes a man comes who holds unfathomable sorrows in his eyes
And sacrifices what no one else will dare for the law of eagles.
Sometimes we are awakened petals because of such a man, such a woman,
Such a human being, architects of tender tasks.
This man is our blessing way, our stilled blood, singing bones,
Graveyard tears, cracked shells, secret errors, terrible triumphs, and
wild moons.
Sometimes a man comes who turns an enemy into a friend,
Who reaches out to fallen poets in their shadowed need
And sweeps the ashes of our lives through the doorways
Of inebriated battle. Sometimes, but not always, we are victory’s legs,
Water’s blue & endless deserts because of such a man,
Such a woman, such a human being. In their glow, we become
Auras and flames, re-imagined in their embrace,
Ignited by their words, leaning always toward their last breath
While standing unsteadily on a mountain’s ledge leering at clouds.