Reaching

Life is not possible without an opening toward the transcendent.
– Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane

Threatened by boot-quake,
a pill bug curls into itself
and quickens its demise.

Threatened by a world unhinged,
a monk curls inward
and quickens his salvation.

Within the heart
of every seeker is a door
to a pair of docks.

If only we have the courage
to reach for the handle
and pull it open.

Moored to the first dock, a speed boat
will whisk us away to a private
cave on a desert island.

Moored to the other, a dinghy
we must row ourselves
in search of new adventures.

Point the bow toward ocean’s horizon,
glimmers of promise in the night sky,
always just out of reach.

But we must reach or die,
a flower never bloomed,
shadowed by skyscrapers and stadiums.

The batter lunges, shortstop dives,
outfielder leaps – arms outstretched
in a contest of eternal reaching.

The poet knows. Words bubble up
and flow into the universe, seeking
unknown destinations just out of reach.

©2023 Kenneth W. Arthur