Sixth Sense

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The air I finally touched

And found it covered in humanity

Chiseled, curved

Rigid, as it can be, and supple where it should

The air felt broken, but, marked with hope, was actually whole

Smelling of dust from the Day-in-Day-out and the patient, rainless years

I asked it to kiss me nevertheless

I’m glad it did, for I learned

There, on its lips, was the taste of us, each of us

I felt unsurprised

How I Do

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How purely awful it would be
Were I a puppeteer
As if my vision for these dolls
Be more brilliant or more clear
Than dreams and hopes that they themselves
And The Creator too
Have knit within their very hearts
To which they ought make true

Release the strings I’m duty-bound
Performed with my delight
My sole request you let me gaze
Upon your gorgeous flight
And should you wish here is my hand
Holding my firm promise:
I’ll sing “Freedom,” honor your walk,
Applaud what you call bliss