beyond count

Pinpricks in the sky,
Like budding cherry blossoms -
A lace made of light. Night pulls
covers over us, way way way out past
cities making wishes. A shooting star
hovers, one syllable over
in the otherwise straight line
of God's haiku

Easy truths, become cliches

Easy truths lend themselves
to overuse. And, become cliches,
offend the ear of those who
value novelty. It isn't that
they aren't true, or have no
true or real value, it's just
that we begin
the fifteenth time,
the fiftieth, the thousandth,
to suspect the one who hits us with
such easy truth - a baseball bat
held wrong-way up
- does not know how to hit,
to win.

But still,
the truth

is just as straight
and curved and hard and long
and fast, as many days
as it's proved true, the first
as true as last, the worst

that you can say of it
is: this. The human mind
can grasp

and use

a truth, poorly, even
wrongly - we may reach
for what we mean, try
to say just what we want, and maybe miss, or kiss
the pitch fair, pure luck - and so,
deserve no credit! But that truth, itself
has force. Even if

we only hold it out
to bunt,

take off and run