This physical plane of grit and smoke and
collapsed lungs and burst capillaries and apocalyptic
horsemen with nightsticks and faceless helmets
is less than the reality that I can see

when I close my eyes, the reality of multicultural
open mics of poetry and guitar and drum and kazoo,
the reality of fresh medically-cleared air totally free
and legal for all to breathe all the time forever

and ever yes, the reality of acrylics and water-
colors and oil paints flowing through
the streets instead of blood, the reality of
happy kids eating chicken nuggets but instead

of chicken nuggets it’s carrots and navy beans,
the reality of common-sense politics with
political parties like heavenly bodies in
cloudless skies and all dominated by

the politics of love, the reality of fires only
of the bon variety with dancing around the embers
and yes fire too in our chests, the fire
to speak up and build exactly what we want to see

instead of working around a rotted infrastructure
already in place, the fire to continuously purge
what we think we know in our souls to make room
for the new truths we encounter every single day,

the fire to burn bright enough to lead like
lighthouses, saying here is safety in troubled waters,
here is a soft place to lay your head and rest,
here is where the shadows are kept at bay.