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Spark
I celebrate this consciousness,
this endless now,
the pulsing breathing writhing moment
after moment after moment,
broken only by the black gap of sleep,
untouched by clocks.
This spark knows no time.
I celebrate the streetlamps,
these solid upright orbs of light,
these noble urban trees,
glowing, illuminating, protecting, lighting
the way for a secret midnight rendezvous
between the stars and the sidewalk.
Their spark knows no darkness.
I celebrate the jazz
coming out of my stereo,
smooth and clean and healing,
the best kind of medicine,
just Miles and his horn
playing, storytelling, wailing.
His spark knows truth and pain.
I celebrate myself,
this beautiful mess
of brains and heart and spine,
of clever and quiet and insecure,
of compassion and neurosis and balance,
scribbling and seeking and trying so hard.
My spark knows love,
and I want to light the world on fire with it.
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