Pennies from Heaven
       

There it is again,
the secret art of random,
the hinges that make
a box a boxer
and back again, mire into
miracle. You have

wasted all your days
on this, waiting for causes
to emerge like hot
universes from
nothing much at all. We lie
down with lions and

become lions, teeth
and all until we have outlioned
the lions and sent
them grumpy-cat home
to await resurrection
or at least a good

meal. All your life you've
kept your clear eye on the ground,
watching for sudden
crevasses, coral
snakes, golden pennies dropped from
heaven. We lie down

with gods and become
needy. Would some manna be
so much to ask we
ask? A Dixie Cup
wax-brimmed with purple sangre
de Cristo before

bedtime, a few sweet
whispered nothings? We listen
to the wind for its
allusions, the stars
for eloquence. The fluent
harmonics of hope

rattle our bony
cages and every part of
every body hums
its own tuneless tune,
all frequency and flavor.
The best we can do

is make up the words
as we lie down with others
and become ourselves.

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Copyright © 2017 John Blair All rights reserved
from Boulevard
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission