If there was no night
I could convince myself it wasn’t coming
You know, like those 24-hour days during the summer
In Finland, or Greenland, or Baffin Bay
Most often, I pass the days in good cheer
Even if the sun sometimes seems strange
But night exists
And when it arrives
I get the feeling
That the bigger thing is coming
And all the smug tweets
And funny gifs in the world
(Including my own)
Won’t be worth one candle
You’re passing someone on the street
Who looks just enough like him from behind
His hat and his walk,
That you could tap him and ask
‘Am I doing alright?’
And you’d know your answer
From his smile or a wink of his eye
The good is the mountain base
And the holy is the summit
That works
Insofar as the good is the well-worn
process of routine
And the holy is the rare event
Of Presence
But while a mountain’s summit
Is built atop its base
The good only exists
On the strength of the holy
Maybe that’s why the Midrash says
That when God offered the Torah on Sinai
He inverted the mountain above Israel’s head
While He waited for their answer
Aristotle says it’s enough to be good
And it should be enough
To live a good life
Love your family and friends
Tell a good joke that makes folks laugh
Treat people decent
And enjoy the changing seasons
And years
But the world isn’t good
It’s holy
Which means sometimes
You have to go to extremes
To reach the summit
And who wants that
When the plateau is so pretty
The issue has never been
The wolf in sheep’s clothing
It’s always the wolf in shepherd’s clothing
Who gets you
After all, throughout history
Is it the wolf
Or the shepherd
Who has killed more sheep?
Anyway
When he shows these days
I try and nod politely
Take a taste if I have to
To remind me what I’ve left behind
Exhale
And hope I’m tougher
Than the head of the flock
With pretty eyes
And perfect teeth
The toughest time
Is always just after I wake up
There must be some place I go
Where things fit
Not when I’m dreaming
Because by then this world
Has already intruded again
And started to muddy the picture.
Before my dreams
There’s a place
Where I get real rest
By the time I’m dreaming
It’s receding
And when I wake
It’s to the panic
Of a world in its confusion
Where (almost) nothing makes sense.
