A Visionary Matrix In Four Poems (1)

A Corridor of Light Sometimes a breeze conspires with a screen of foliage to grant us a vista. The breeze parts the branches and leaves, they willingly fall back to show you, the watching one, a corridor of light, and not a knot of darkness. How far beyond our place of being can you see with your enhanced sight? Can you make out tomorrows's events? On what stage do we stand? It is no Lyric Stage, alas. It is a puppet stage, and the strings for the puppet actors are placed loosely into your hands. They come forward, cluster around you, entangle themselves with their strings. They look blankly at each other, but they watch you imploringly. With the suddenness of a summer's breeze, you have been changed into a new kind of author. Look, the strings are taut, the puppets disciplined actors, an audience is forming in the foyer, and destiny awaits its cue. Begin as you have before: with fierce hope, with fierce love, with fierce calm.