Talking heads say "perhaps now," now
that I (the Uncle pointing fingers everywhere but
at the heart he sold for a stake in maybe millions),
now that I have borrowed what you do not have
it will all work itself out. In time
reason will return to a market
shaken and stirred silly.
The days are dark.

     Uncertainty roars through silent streets
and the rip current ramifications of greed lead
to collapsing faith in free market enterprise.

I long for a walk in the rain, remembrance
of the pure moment where everything I ever hoped
to believe in I saw reflected in your eyes. The trust
you bestowed upon me then, when you chose
to set aside for a moment the noise
of life's exchange floor, gave me an
investment that's recession-proof,
solid soul truth that shines a light.

     Certainty calls me forward through the din.
The gentle wave of something greater carries me
onward, sending stock in you soaring skyward.

Oh, I know you have lost the moment
and the man you were; and you believe in
nothing more than the ever-after and the here
and now. That was then. Now winds gather.
A storm brews. You are afraid it is too late
to dare to sail tempestuous seas. Afraid to lose
what you have, you clutch treasure to your chest
and blind your eyes to what your soul
showed you so clearly once.

     Ambiguity enshrouds. You stumble through
gathering fog. You close your eyes and see me, green
ocean promise, secure in endless love for you.