They try to lead us to righteous rancor
itching our collective-trauma cankers
resisting what arises we anchor
in impossible dreams, oh, we hanker
for a much needed siesta, tingling
ungrounded electricity mingling
our stressed-out nervous systems pure jingling
we’re fried, we’re toxified, there’s no singling
out of one single cause. We’re contrary
the marching orders leave us cold, carry
sightless crisis into ordinary
life, we rest in nature–not so scary!
Imagination rises, so inspired
at last we access all this inner fire
Rejoice, again, I say, no longer dire
in presence we find love: all we require.
And another beautiful painting by my four-year-old grandson.