valentine

from me  -
from brian doyle -
         the wet engine

what might we be, as a species in the years 
to come? o what, o god tell me, o people tell me,
o friends and lovers tell me, o enemies tell me,
o come clear to me in the entrails of birds
and the fleeting tails of stars, what we might be 
if we rise and evolve,
if we reach and leap,
if we deepen and sing,
if we come further down from the brooding trees
and out onto the smiling plain,
if we unclench the fist and drop the dagger,
if we emerge blinking 
from the fort
and the blockade 
and the prison,
if we smash the bricks from around our hearts,
if we cease to stagger and swagger,
if we peel the steel from our eyes,
if we yearn and learn,
if we do what we say we will do,
if we act as if our words really matter, 
if our words become muscled mercy,
if we grow a fifth chamber in our hearts
and a seventh and a ninth,
and become as if new creatures
arisen from our shucked skins,
creatures who become what we are
so patently 
and brilliantly
and utterly
and wholly
and holy
capable of...
                what then ?

o happy day!