Imagination
Imagination comes
as if it was a child of me.
Unbidden,
but welcome.
Positioned in front,
as would an infant
in a group photograph.
There is a certain innocence.
A certain awkwardness.
Surrounded by maturity,
while having none of its own.
I am the first to see its
eyes open.
Detectable is a certain babbling
on top of a wailing,
“It is far easier to promise,
than perform.”
It prattles,
“Sometimes, in the evolution of things,
other things must disappear.”
I know it is always well meaning
and wants to do a healing.
Applying a cast to a will
which resists being cripple bent.
A brilliance in its hands
where resides the first wild place
for plans.
Inhaling the present,
exhaling the past.
While its words shape
the moment-to-moment.