What If
What if the city streets rolled up, and Malthus resurrected
As the sun rose at night and stars skipped upon the sea?
What if the tales of doom were doomed, and earth opened
Like an egg and hatched to flight her neo-phoenix brood
Where honeysuckle bloomed amid bears and bees?
What if the peace of Jerusalem arrived spontaneously, the golden
Dome first melted red in the blood of Abraham, and cousins celebrated
In ashes and sackcloth for their plenitude of sin and sacrilege,
For coveting evil eyes and murdering prophets, and for child sacrifice—
Before dancing all together like David, reciting of God’s marriage?
What if the desert ran to color without the rain, done with waiting
And sprang out in berries, plums, pomegranate, and an aviary symphony?
What if a stump burned and chopped found one quick root, and from its side
Shot up a branch, a remnant that billowed forth a bush of life, white
With flowers and nests with throbbing shells colored in rainbows?
What if dominants turned to making peace, became servants of the poor?
What if politicians spoke the truth and people heard it wisely,
Inspired to make, like neurons’ matrixes, neighbors of all, blessed
And provoked to evolve together, free, as one individuality?
What if poetry was said as child and adult put to bed, and arose?
What if science discovered everything was alive, sentient,
And rocks and trees indeed sang witness of their source,
Every molecule in hum and dance, and each cell alive
Communicating with every other of love’s energy and meaning?
What if veils were shorn so beauty’s every face could be seen?
Yet all of these—what if—are common small compared to expectations
True, that the door on which I knock is also knocking—with the reality of you.
Copyright © Mark Mitchum | Year Posted 2017
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