If I close my eyes
will the owl
creep into my sleep
or linger out of sight,
beyond earshot
and the swirl
of grief
painting the chapel dome
of my eyelids?
Sometimes I balance wants with needs.
Nothing contains me
but I am held tight.
I never thought I was a beginning.
Sometimes I feel more than I can share,
so I scatter ashes and estranged words,
look for signs on the ground.
I am the opening
between jar and lid,
a grounded fledgling,
a promise,
unfilled.
But hope swells in morning clouds
and the first birdcalls.
In the orb spider’s dewy web.
In the blurred gasp of memory’s lapse,
in the owl, as it awakens
and folds its wings
so cautiously around
my buried
dream.
Robert Okaji served without distinction in the U.S. Navy, and once owned a bookstore. Eighteen months ago he was diagnosed with late-stage metastatic lung cancer. Thanks to the wonders of modern science, he still lives in Indiana with his wife—poet Stephanie L. Harper—stepson, and cat. His first full-length collection, Our Loveliest Bruises, will be published by 3: A Taos Press in fall 2024, and his poetry may be found in Only Poems, wildness, Verse Daily, Vox Populi, Taos Poetry Journal, and on his blog at www.robertokaji.com.