Mike Wilson

Directions to Canaan

Passports from other worlds
are used to travel this one
passports issued in foreign tongues
unheard by ordered understanding
whisper to sleepers in forgotten dreams.
Oh Holy Subconscious!
To Thee I bow,
Sustainer of the game, Your rules curving
out of reach, creating a miracle of trust,
each creature treading earth’s crust
a satellite of the center miles below.
Two poles and a swing between-–
a sign, if only we knew.

Light Behind a Blind

–in the manner of Emily Dickinson

Behind a blind a light switched on–
too dim for me to see
who stirred upstairs before the dawn
and rose invisibly.
Did the sleeper face the day
unwillingly, with dread–
or race past clock time, keen to say
the song inside her head?
Our parts are just our history
but–still–we read them cold.
Deep into this mystery–
what light could crack the mold?
Worm-wise warblers tweet and twerk
the news–pellucent Spring!
We fly by faith–it’s always worked–
like them, we flap our wings.

Mike Wilson, a writer living in Lexington, Kentucky, has had work published in small magazines including Appalachian Heritage, Solidago, Frogpond, Cagibi, Stoneboat, and The Aurorean.