Without Ever Knowing
05.28.20 Pasadena
In between is a window
where everybody is,
where the world moves
at our command.
At our command. . .
we can stop,
turn the world on its head,
make it come to life,
grow a desire.
In between is a window where. . .
we can travel with not a single step
without fear;
we can fly without wings,
without the thrill of the wind;
we can talk without words,
without seeing each other’s faces,
laugh without a smile.
In between is a window where. . .
we can hear everyone
everywhere without listening,
without knowing,
without a song;
we can feel the cold
of the arctic cutting through
without ever hearing
the howling of the wind.
At our command. . .
we can wake to the salty air,
droplets of the ocean
flung into the wind
without ever knowing
the whispers deep below.
At our command . . .
we can join hands with people
up in trees, on mountaintops
without understanding
what makes them fly.
In between is a window where. . .
we can stare into the faces
of mothers weaving dreams
of their newborns,
stomachs growling
without ever knowing
where hunger goes.
At our command. . .
we can exist in the make-shift kitchens
of people driven from where they belong
without ever knowing
what keeps them going.
In between is a window where. . .
we can dance to the beat
of the rice harvest
without a thought of
how rice came to be.
We can see the far-flung lives
and lofty mountains
in the waking and sleeping
of children bound
without ever knowing
the hunger for what could be
without ever knowing
your hunger for what you could be.
At our command. . .
we can weave a world
without wings
the brown earth
crying.