Chant to Repair a Friendship (a triolet)
Come, friend, forgive the past;
and#160;and#160;and#160;I was wronga dn I am grieving.
Tell me that this break wonand#8217;t lastand#8212;
take my hand; forgive the past.
and#160;and#160;and#160;Angerand#8217;s brief, but love is vast.
and#160;and#160;and#160;Take my hand; donand#8217;t think of leaving.
Come, friend, forgive the past;
and#160;and#160;and#160;I was wrong and I am grieving.
Come, Happiness
Happiness,
youand#8217;re not what everyone says:
some flashy friend
who shows up with fireworks,
trailing fame and glory.
You are more like a raindrop,
governed by mysterious principles.
You fall from the sky and hitand#8212;plop!and#8212;with
a cool kiss of surprise.
Or maybe youand#8217;re a heartbeat,
always there,
speaking in your low, soft voice,
pumping, warming, strengthening
under the surface of things,
just doing your work.
Happiness, youand#8217;re like a breeze
sucked in by eager lungs.
You fill and feed us,
and yet somehow, in the exhale,
you are shared.
So come,
come to us, Happiness.
Bathe us with your cool spray.
Fill us with your splendid breath.
Help us do your work.
Chant Against the Dark
Donand#8217;t come close, dark.
Donand#8217;t brush my face with your sticky hands.
Stay as cool and distant as a train whistle.
Donand#8217;t single me out,
donand#8217;t make me answer your questions.
Let me curl here, safe in my circle of light.
Donand#8217;t come close, dark.
Donand#8217;t speak to me in your crooked tongue.
I donand#8217;t want to hear your stories.
I have stories of my own to tell myself all night.
Donand#8217;t come close, dark.
Donand#8217;t breathe on me.
When the lamp clicks off,
donand#8217;t creak and shift
like some wild-eyed horse
waiting for its rider.
Oh, dark,
donand#8217;t call my name.
Song of Bravery
This oneand#8217;s not a sure thing.
Iand#8217;m not bound to win.
I donand#8217;t think Iand#8217;ll ace it this time.
I wonand#8217;t break a leg,
make my own luck,
or reach the stars.
The sun is not shining on me today.
The force is not strong.
Before the day is out,
Iand#8217;ll taste the grit of dust.
Maybe I didnand#8217;t do all I could.
Or maybe I did
but there were others who did more.
Maybe Iand#8217;ll never know.
But here I goand#8212;
bones clicking quietly together,
blood flowing dutifully
from heart to hands and back againand#8212;
here I go, stepping out
through the door
of my own shadow:
into the glare of the arena
to face the lions.