The direction of light.
New stones have risen up earth's labor toward air. Everything rises, the ocean in a cloud, the rain forest passing above our heads. Children grow inch by inch like trees in a graveyard, victors over the same gravity that pulls us down. Even our light continues on through the universe and do we stop to wonder who will see it and where, when the light of this earth is gone? May there long be our light. And then it falls. Shades are pulled down between two worlds, clouds fall as rain, light returns the way rain from Brazil falls in New York and the green parrots in their cages feel it, shake their feathers, and remember home, and they are alive and should they be thankful for that gift or should they curse like sailors and grieve? I tell the parrots, I too have wanted to give up on everything when what was right turned wrong and the revolutionaries who rose up like yeast in life's bread, turned against those who now rise up. That's why I take the side of light, don't you, with the weight of living tugging us down and earth wanting us back despite great thoughts and smiling faces that are prisons in between the worlds of buying and selling even the parrots we teach to say "Hello." Hello. Did I call this poem the direction of light? I meant life so let this word overthrow the first and rise up to the start.