A Daily Joy To Be Alive / Jimmy Santiago Baca

No matter how serene things 
may be in my life, 
how well things are going, 
my body and soul 
are two cliff peaks 
from which a dream of who I can be 
falls, and I must learn 
to fly again each day, 
or die. 

Death draws respect 
and fear from the living. 
Death offers 
no false starts. It is not 
a referee with a pop-gun 
at the startling 
of a hundred yard dash. 

I do not live to retrieve 
or multiply what my father lost 
or gained. 

I continually find myself in the ruins 
of new beginnings, 
uncoiling the rope of my life 
to descend ever deeper into unknown abysses, 
tying my heart into a knot 
round a tree or boulder, 
to insure I have something that will hold me, 
that will not let me fall. 

My heart has many thorn-studded slits of flame 
springing from the red candle jars. 
My dreams flicker and twist 
on the altar of this earth, 
light wrestling with darkness, 
light radiating into darkness, 
to widen my day blue, 
and all that is wax melts 
in the flame- 

I can see treetops!