Where can we find hope in hopelessness?
A strange question for a strange time.
Is it indeed the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?
Always elusive, out of reach,
stolen from us by thieves,
a vision of something that is naïve.

Hope for me is a stand:
Here, moving, but unmoving,
opening my hands to the sky,
staying with the conviction that
something fine is possible in the impossible,
that a pearl is there to be found even in
the ugly, the deranged, the fragmented,
the disordered and the abhorrent ways that bring
the suffering of the earth.

I will translate the uncertainty of the world
into words of belief that good is a horizon,
that change can come,
like a storm after drought,
and a smile beyond defeat,
that we can recover from the Museum
of Lost Words:
respecting,
embracing,
listening,
with loving kindness as their base.

 

1/8/2026