Plainspeak

We’re going to have to find ourselves beautiful.

It will involve libraries

Of country music,

Not the genre

But the possibility,

A matter of opening

Again and again

The Book Of What Happened,

Of learning to savor the sighs,

The incomplete sentences,

Of other people,

To view with imagination and deep affection

Our addiction to love,

Our only hope,

We might as well face it,

And with impossible-feeling dysfunction

Drawn into the circle of song,

Dragged into the space of the talkaboutable,

The plainspeak, the ancient candor,

That knows, always knew

That there are no unrelated people,

That every fact is a function of relationship,

That the whole world’s kin,

That I am because we are.