News Cycle

Imagine a massive field of daffodils
All silent but undeniable with their screaming yellow heads;
Imagine we stand beside this field without our iphones —
Only scrolling across the hillsides
Only liking with our hearts
Only sharing with each other this same and simple view —
Would we stop being horrified
By the monstrous sound behind us
And multiply our great belief
That small green things
Rise in great swaths of generosity
When we look and look and look
For spring?
Surely, what thunders toward us easily and bellows in our ears
In a tumble and torrent of pissing spew is
Also undeniable;
But what grows in the crush and the sound of us is fire;
Without breath or astonishment we swallow lumps of coal
Whole, gasping for air, burning our throats
Seared by how wrong we were about the world,
Muted by the aftermath
And charred remains of faith.
Turn your back, now,
And walk away. Crouch low, until you see
The kind and sprouting shoot
That returns once more to rally the lighted forces of our
Love.