The Shudwilby

In their world of balance
Wishes have prices
Hidden 'til received
And very non-returnable

Future knowledge they sought
The violet eye of will be . . . . .
Given was it
With its spectral opposite
The red eye of should have . . . . .
Which is unsure if it is truly inherent red
Or the hue caused by tears of guilt
The rage of what could have been
Should have been
For the violet eye can't tell
Its purple haze of what will be tomorrow, tomorrow
is dreaming of the trip one will take next year
While the red eye weeps that it should have been taken last week

As each day her body wakes
Or at least movement appears easier
The opposite spectrums blind one to the now
Rising, moving forward she guesses
Ouch! should have moved that table
Dinner will be served on it in gallant style next Tuesday
Though food rots and bodies starve
With the most luscious taste on one's mind's eye
As red rage throws rotten cantaloupes
Crash! her grandma's vase
No, niece Nita's, yet to be born on . . . . .

"Oh Presence, where are you?"
The daily call cries out
For surely their most precious companion
Cannot be seen by their eyes
Momentarily a mind link takes place
For little glimpses like a heartbeat
The Shudwilby connects to a small creature
Short of vision, large of heart
Ancient creature breed in forgotten ways
Of unconditional love
Seeing only this moment in time
Fully in each breath
"Ahh, so there's the can opener"
With each pulse of the now
She connects something . . . . . nah, should have been years ago
Outdated garbage . . . . .
Though mmm . . . . . evolution is coming next . . . . .
Or is it now


Jana Drake
11-11-99
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