Hide Out

The hider the one hiding out of the stream
dry on a boulder in a spot unseen
away from those with bulgy eyes
is almost always the one reprising
the role of being hid from.

By whose hand
from whom and what
imagined perils
is our stature eclipsed
and our lips sterilized?
The fine line between
caution and cowering
is not fine.

The knockers seeming to bang on the door
are not strangers settling a vague score
but players without lines in your brainstorm
the said and done is shaped to conform
to your staged evasion.

I was a boy once and walls were handed
to me for use to box up my most candid
nature my personality of monkeyshine
in a cathedral of sheet rock and pine
with windows but doorless.

I have boys now wrapped up in the linen
of layered skin and might-have-been
their slow circles of sitting and standing
have loosened the fabric of the bands
wound around their calm

Limbs by circumscription fettered
shy of perfect we just want better
than average hide-outs to wait-out the
seeking even if we don’t know who
we keep avoiding.

Then the father of the father of mummies
half-cocooned in his diligent drumming
appears up at the protected pulpit
sermonizing in wordless alphas
and omegas scurry off.

Be thou man not refugee
divine as mountain as spineless as tree
say the scribblings of the prophet that almost was
the uncle whose strength lay in being impossible
follow now hide not.

On a morning past historical omnipresence
we will sit at the most pleasant of breakfasts
out of obscurity unobstructed by pretenses
we will speak true names and play no tricks
of feigned wound.

By whose hand
from whom and what
imagined perils
is our stature eclipsed
and our lips sterilized?
The fine line between
caution and cowering
is not fine.

God give us a mixture of mercy and insolence
and light more luminous than easy obedience
out from behind the door and up from cool
cellar to the dome of the citadel
to shine and be seen.

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
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