Leading the Blind

As the sun forgets to shine for another dark day in America
I have decided I might like to close my eyes,
start to walk barefoot
or naked so that I might stumble
on some chirp of a cardinal,
red and joyful

no compass in sight,
more blind than the bad guys and the broken
who would shove splinters under my nails
if they really knew me
and the venom that grows
within each rudderless day
under the rule of constant
glorious fear.

What would happen
if I closed my eyes slowly,
as if in prayer,
let my olfactory take the lead,
surrender to the God of love
and local gardens?

If I ate the fruit
could I block out the swirling madness
of the nation who forgot themselves
in the telling of a story of apples and freedom
that was never true?
This Bible collects dust
and slowly tears us all until
we have forgotten the way home.

I have forgotten how many steps
between the rooms of love

and hate.  The aisle is a tightrope
cluttered with the detritus
of forgotten promises,

something that might have once
been sacred, honest,

even if you hold it
in front of a blind man
asking for more.