“Welcome,” the sign says and the light blinks green and we wonder,
“Is it really okay?” as in “Is it really okay to want all this?” because
somewhere along the way we skimmed the fat, stowed desire under
the table, shuffled around our wishful thinking and the rumpled, tender cables
linking us, improbably, to the seed of a dream we couldn’t bear to surrender.
So we look up, just to make sure, burned as we’ve been
burned, but I’m telling you there is no better way to go, skin still tender,
mouth an “O” of question marks. I’m telling you this is the way in,
body bruisy, skittish, deer-wild, with a winter sky cold and bracing.
This is the only way touch the clouds, with your heart already racing.