Intention I

Intention I

Our laps

are dust laden

with the years

that hope has

helped to drag

us through:

layer after layer of 'the just enough'

and I know everyone loves to love the words:

I hope,

one hopes,

we hope,

but 'Hope' is a mask,

stuck to the face of what is,

sputtering in place,
a temporary salve;
it is a flawed thing,

a slant of cupric light,

inherently weakening

beneath the weight

of its own shimmer,

like a propping up of dreams

on stilts of spinning twine,

unwinding in the clear broad

stare of the conscious mind

and in this dawn of clarity,

my intention is to dislodge
the specter of surface

at the behest of the only

word that matters; joy.