It happened like it did two thousand years ago
on a hot Sunday morning. And just last weekend:
she woke up gagging on clots of chocolate blood;
he failed to drink, or scream, himself into a blue coma.
Another marveled for hours at the taste
of rain seducing the full length of his tongue.
And still one more–– dropped to her knees weeping
at the scent of a sunrise whirling from her stereo.
The difference this time was the light of purpose
that wrapped and pulled their bones like
incandescent lovers to an unknown naked shore.
It happened the way hidden miracles must:
her tears boiled into an ink of indigo revelation;
his soul slapped his mind sober, demanding
he respect these gifts of gold from his spirit.
Another pointed at the astonished moon and
smeared rainbow-colored rhymes across its face.
And still one more inhaled time’s scented tunes––
exhaled songs of earth giving birth to emerald wonder.
The enemy, clearly, was the fanged nightmare––
of famine, of war and racism, of rape and terrorism…
that walked in human skin while chomping human heads.
Like new stars exiting the Milky Way’s trembling belly,
or eagles tasting sky for the first time: that is how it happened.
She looks at what she wrote and sighs, “Oh, thank youuuu.”
He licks the verbs flavoring his lips and moans, “Yes, yes…”
Another stares at midnight-rainbow syllables etched
like neon tattoos upon the moon’s ancient-infant face.
One more spins inside the music of the mystery
of how poets and words burn truth into love.
The difference now is one hundred thousand of them
pulsing the lyrical flame of their wills to make a difference,
welding stanzas into actions that heal broken lives.
©1 September, 2011