Winging It
When the dog bites and the bee stings,
When the toilets overflow and door hinges fall off,
When the seasons suddenly switch
And all around me is change,
I am winging it.
Winging it
on tilted wings I learn to fly
knowing that the hardest part is coming down.
My soul is infinity turned upside down
with my flailing legs skyward,
my fingers touch the earth.
Winging it
I cry out to the love of trees
seeking my own private nests
and shelter from the stormy wind
Those lightning flashed barbs of
those who scream at all of us.
Winging it
I cry out alone
and seek shelter offering you my arms
outstretched into the brightness
of lighted wings winging it.
I drink in the sky balancing the blood
with my heavenly songs of light
electric with love and only
a hundred miles to go
trying to work it all out.
Winging it
through those ocean wave crests of memory
winging it with my mother's soul and father's loss of dignity
winging it through gale-forced winds
colorful tonradoes and high desert moons
Winging it
past the obstacles of derision and fool hardy tears
Winging it over and under my own blossomings
with the holy sanctity of a life lived on my own.
Winging it
through ancient Cumberland Plateau misty fogs
cloud green Seattle reaches,
Atlantic Beach Sundays,
with so many lost years
Winging it
when all I really want to do is sleep and dream.
Winging it
through these last long days on earth
yours mine and ours.
When winging it
is what we do to fly
to sing, to breathe.
We laugh and love
and winging it
is not so hard,
so easy to be hard.
Winging it
I need to sing
whether or not it's a weekday
whether or not my grandmother is alive
whether or not silver platters come in clouds
Winging it
I am off true north to somewhere
hidden in dreams of day and night that surprise me
from time to time like
herons on railings in rain
porpoises in the night
or the dream I had about the Pope.
Winging it
I'm on my way to Paradise
where I always get what I need
where I am re-entering the landscape
where a growing confidence in myself
gives me the freedom to play
to let go, to flow without a script
to ad lib the music
to breathe deep the poetry
to sing my blessed song
Jeff Hartzer
copyright 2013
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