Apple-Leaf,
Rose
Gentle
as humans can aim to be, gentler still
is
called for around the softest creatures, does
who
idealize as a reflex gesture. They’re defenseless
against
all sorts of shocks. We try not to name
calamities.
No one levels with the starry-eyed ones,
saying,
listen, the world is the world. Sorry for that,
fellow
traveler. Easy as we’ve learned to hold a thread,
there’s
easier yet. But we do know the real names
of the
old-time Gods, the flawed ones who were toppled,
whose
people set them aside. Pride and fear of enemies,
the
building blocks of history. Which woods glade,
what Eden-ized
bubble makes persistent optimists?
How can
they live down in the same milieu we do,
and
still sing those Pollyanna songs? It’s a marvel
they
should bottle. Folks would pay a pretty penny
to
believe that goodness will prevail.
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