Inheritance

                        

think about how many people

how many beings loved their time

and passed it on

and we’ve picked it up

as deftly as a 4x100 sprinter

takes the baton

as innocently as a child

picks a shell along the shoreline.

and what have we done it with it

since?

struggled, aspired, resented, competed,

and ….occasionally

rested

in the beauty

waiting there,

behind the cloudy day.

and then it happens,

one fine day in May,

you’re standing at the edge of the forest

and the haunting call of the wood thrush

brushes your tender

heart.

and your plans come crashing down

like an Antarctic glacier

no ones watching.

you wish there were a vine

you could leap out on,

return to the jungle.

but

others rely on you

and you rely on them.

so you dry your tears

and carry on,

yet someday you’ll get

to pass it on,

for someone else to juggle with,

and you can follow the echo

of the wood thrush

or that beam of pinkish light

shooting up, through the cirrus,

or wherever, whatever

your spirit

wishes

to delight in.