Maybe I’d be happier
if I believed in something
currently absent
but said to be returning:

Jesus, or America. Maybe
that tug of hope,
forlorn as it might be,
could pull me up.

It is fall, aiming to become
winter soon enough. Then
it will be spring. I don’t need
to believe in that — it’s not

a myth but a fact. Jesus, though; well,
Jesus ain’t spring. As for that other,
it hasn’t earned my belief.
I won’t spend it on such grief

as it has given me. Some think
Jesus and America are one and the same.
I hope for my sake that’s untrue.
I find the devil more credible. 

I know you are shocked. I wish
I was able to believe in your hope.
I know some good people who do.
I’m just not one. I’ve seen things

they haven’t, been seeing them
for over five centuries now.
It’s hard to forget that
and succumb to hope. 

Maybe I should just wait,
depend on spring to pick me up.
If I was sure I’d get there,
I think I could hang on. 

Till then, I’ll listen to you
sing your songs of Christmas
and watch you put your hands
over your hearts. See,

I have learned: regardless
of how much you hope, how much
you want to believe, you must always
keep an eye on where the hands are.

Car radio news
is filled with black rocks
flying through space,
struck from hard places
on this hard planet,
becoming flame
wherever they land,
spreading fire.

Car radio news has taught me
and I have learned
and forgotten
and had to relearn
too many times
that all lives 
are made of coal.
Anyone anywhere 
will easily flare
and then be consumed
if touched by fire.

Car radio news?
Just turn it off,
someone says. Why not listen
to music? Old music
we danced to as kids:
water on embers.
New music feels too much 
like rocks ablaze
above our heads, coming in fast
to strike us,
we who are heaps of coal.

Because, I say.
Because we are already on fire
and nostalgia offers no blanket
large enough to smother it.

Because, I say.
Because we should never forget that
everywhere is a hard place
waiting to be struck and 
fling its black rocks into space.
Anywhere is a landing zone.
Anywhere can burn.
Everywhere is always ready to burn.
Everyone can burn.

But for you I’ll change the station
for now as we drive. For you I’ll find
something made long ago,
something made to play
by a fireside.  We can pretend
for a little while.