Possibility spreads itself across the table naming itself plan, calling itself goals, affirming out loud that it visions itself into tomorrow, shining.  Disappointment has been chained in the basement – foolish – in the dark it stirs and spins stories that become nightmares.  Better to ask it to dinner, have a few drinks, get it loosened up, turn it inside out to satisfaction, relief, contentment, dress it in bright colors, hold its hand, show it the writing on the page, the writing on the wall, the writing in the news with charts and graphs and a line that goes straight up the side of that high mountain where someday you, having attained the summit, will be showered with rose petals, anointed with myrrh, dressed in silk woven through with tiny gold threads, grow wings, fly with dragons and angels, laughing.

The cat with six eyes watches
the seven sunsets over the mountain
that happened just today while no one
was looking, the sky painting itself
twelve shades of purple shot with rose,
with blush, with fuchsia, with candy
cotton pink good enough to eat unless
you are a feline who much prefers fish.

To enter into this space and fall open to breakthroughs knocking hard in your twilight dreams, to go past “go” and collect your $200, to advance, to progress, to take even the tiniest first step,  you must travel in liminal places where dark equals light, trust paths that are invisible, pluck inspiration from stones that refuse to speak, songs that will not be sung, language that is composed of silent syllables and still, still push on.

****

all of this is by way of saying that today “I got nothing” – dry as a bone.  But I have promised myself to have at a daily poem/post no matter what, so I headed off in a direction with no clue and this came on along and for today it will be enough.