Juncture

Is there a juncture
You have been waiting for all your life,
That special moment?

Transcendence knows well
The drip of ice,
The fragrance of gardenia,
The modulation of Brubeck,
The splattering genius of Pollock.

How spacious the choice.
How reluctant the pursuit.
Dread knows well
Our fending off possibilities.

Yet…

Somewhere inward,
Everyone knows the key,
Hesitant perhaps.

After all,
Few look forward to the unknown.

But…

At some point,
When all else fails,
When stuff,
Glory,
And money is lost,
Love’s starvation is accepted,
Senses awaken.

Like the moment our child-ness
First touches a rose petal,
Only to marvel at the color,
The aroma,
The horn-stemmed protection,
The willingness to embrace it all.

Such is the juncture,
So remote to most,
Beyond one’s once cherished innocence.

For working the system,
For avoiding the challenge,
For unknowingly urging the missteps
That once were foreign to your inherent child,

Fear now enters as consolation prize.