This should get up and make you clap your hands.
This should swing you in its rhythmic charms.
Should this find you lying on your bed staring,
this should take your hand and come with you
to a place at the banks of your Will, where
the drums are beating in the night under the light,
where constellations are spinning
around like dervishes, like Spanish dancers, for
you in your dreaming room under your pink chandelier.
This should find your soft skin and rip off its
bandages fast, like big love, like the jangling hope
in your pockets on a big O-ring, like a lily waiting,
rising, writhing to the quick pulse of the right idea
while all the small creatures climb up nearby trees,
just skips ahead of the tidal wave of your jail break,
and in your great sucking of air, as your turned-up face
lifts through the surface to infinity and infinity
is not a word for the temple it's a word for you.
It's a goblet for your passion and grace, it is the way
your brain melts down the braided shackles
around your wrists, around your waist, around your
wry curling smile, and yeses. Your profound yes.
Your serious yes. Serious as pie with time.
Serious as the memory that resonates
and warms you as it spreads out across the
swale of your eight arms, and wet, soft heart.
This should find you waking up to a new day.
This should find you waking up healed, and
twisting the universe around your beautiful
finger as if it's a strand of gems, or your escaped curl.
This should follow you up the long hall into
the living room where the sun is lounging,
waiting for your bright strutting smile to cut
through all the slam and outrage and waiting
and spread this new day on some toast with jam.
This should blossom big in your glass tea pot.
This should make you kiss-rich.
This should make you wait-free.
This should make your arms rise up in a rousing "V"!
This should make you shake and sparkle.
This should make you unafraid.
This should crown you joy-queen of the new renegade.