It’s not that I didn’t believe, or maybe that is the case,
not believing. Then comes a day where it matters,
but not literally. A time when right now happens
whether I remember to look at the sky or not. I’m in it,
completely. A combination of factors unsorted I call my life
must contribute. In unconcern, I begin to believe and let go
at the same time. The two-hundred acres, systematically written
vision we’ve been moving toward in steps-intended
and gifts that give us “Aha!” in the back of the neck,
knowing, the kind one feels is close enough to touch
if breath could be mastered, and eyes go out of focus
a second to remember the future. So if we get there,
because I’m here, I may be on the ground when the notion
transpires, when our life is a tangle of service mixed up
in handmade, homemade wonder, when lives touched
are lives changed and community isn’t a catchphrase
meaning good intentions at support if only. I felt all this
yesterday, alone, in the driver’s seat of our jet-black Silverado,
singing along to Simon and Garfunkel’s “America”,
remembering a train ride where I watched the sun rise
over middle Illinois, my hand penning poetry to tears
dripping off my face. Idealistic youth, hellbent more like,
but this is not the point. Crossing town in harmony
with the great duo, I knew it would all come together if it does
and when it does, I’ll be there and not here,
looking back, simply aware that this is reality.