An ostrich sticks its head into the sand, fooling those around him into thinking he is hiding from the world, seeking refuge, a comfort of the mind at least.
I follow him in theory because I think that may be best at times like this. Soon I learn his secret and find it not the pathway of escape, but rather focus; even the smallest grain of sand is of the earth, and faceted with simpler sides to crystallize the view. A microscopic world in comprehensive form. The earth and all its mystery seen close and clearly as it can’t be seen above the surface with its moving, running, flying, buzzing, screaming things that intrude upon the melody of humming life–that is all we need to recognize and hear.
Lifting out, emerging from our little telescope into the world, refitted with glassy clear sand spectacles, we then can see the world a different way. We then can walk its crust in confidence because we’ve seen what lies beneath and trust it to be real.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
1. This is poetry, not prose. And good poetry.
2. I very much like it that there are silly no line-breaks. This is the way we should receive poetry: exposed, honest, not hiding behind the masks of convention to declare it poetry.