It occurs to me now
That all that remains unseen,
Unheard, unfelt, unknown to us
Does not do so for its elusiveness -
But for the lost opportunity
Of unwillingness and inability.

The images that exist in darkness,
The songs that fly by on wings of silence,
The weight of transparent, paper thin
Contact lenses sitting, not floating, on corneas
Are never nonexistent,
But are often… overlooked.

The fleeting colors of so called reality,
The crash and bang of everyday,
And the heaviness of the clothes we wear
To cover up our own nakedness
Steal our attention –
And close our eyes and ears and hearts
To the everything-else we dare not know.

We are, it seems
Nearly always, half asleep
In our wakefulness.

Until - unless - we stumble into
That pool of forgotten clarity
And drown ourselves there
(in a half inch of rain water, even)
Until the lungs of numbness fill
And foolishness dies
So that we may, finally – open, wide,
Long neglected ears and hearts and eyes

And, by virtue of overwhelming awareness
Become unwilling and unable to deny
How we were truly meant
To live our lives.