wish list

with thanks to Nick Jaina for the prompt

I want writers who listen
who understand vast silences
and shine light in shadowlands
I want writers who comb
deep caverns of sea
who fall in romance
with the planet around them
and ask fellow beings
to seek palaces of kindness
writers who deconstruct their realities
for each other
willing to fly free
past small lives
to find something scared
writers with courage
who magnify the depths
who complicate air
and make sense of the noise
I want writers who challenge the everyday
who create imaginary universes
out of a bunch of blankets
laid over chairs
for a kid's fort
who erupt volcanoes
and paint figures ready to jump
but crawl back home
and rip out large sections of biblical text
to make a new reality
writers who make peace
stumbling on sanctuary
humming wavelengths
I want writers who sing lullabies
to their readers
but the kind that wake us up
writers who make
kaleidoscopic dances
on the page
that acrobat off
and up
and tumble into our hearts
thighs
throats
writers who crack
me down the middle
with a sledgehammer
and then offer a handkerchief
I want to be a writer
who takes wandering walks
through old growth forests
and has soft conversations
with trees
moss
leaflets
who drinks in autumn
and pours out spring
I want writers who map
the stars
in reshaped constellations
and invent myths
that erupt with the same grandiose heat
as the ancients
but have awakening energy
that stirs something deep
from our seats
something primal
guttural
familiar
in a tribal way
in the way of us
that is forgotten memory
beyond the bottoms of our feet
yet glimmering starlight too
guiding us to sublime faraways
I want writers who don't reinvent circles
but split apart the old contraption
and reassemble the parts
until they disrupt
my breath
until I stop recognizing the
form
only to unveil the
fresh beginning
I want to be a writer
with the racing spririt
of that seven year old
who ran in from the front door
to meet his parents
at the welcome desk
a writer with curious eyes
who puts ear to the door
throws it wide
discovers the secret place
and smashes a violin case
on the ground
but only for good
a writer who traces back
to finds hope in history
and future too
I want writers who travel
to the ends of the multiverse
who can pull back the moon
and release the sun
who empty their ribs
and continue to open
I want to float
in a hot blimp
to survey the whole topography
below me
and uncover
blanketed mysteries

float in a hot blimp, survey the whole topography below me, uncover blanketed mysteries Photo by Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash