standards

do you think my standards are too high?

I ask the wall

there is no reply

I live in a nutshell

and I wonder if I’ve done my best

I ask if I’ve lived too independently

I move through the hedge grounded path

collecting things as I go

a silver shears, a maple sapling, an orange kazoo

I ask if I’ll ever come up empty

every day I weave new metaphors

and I make things up and I laugh

every day I fall in love

I ask if that will ever stop

do you think my standards are too high?

I ask my wall, my art, my plants

do you think I’ve been too independent?

I ask my nutshell, my work, my wonder

do you think I’ll ever come up empty?

I ask the garden, the shears, the sapling, the kazoo

do you think I’ll ever stop falling in love?

I ask my metaphors, my mind, my laughter

I ask my God

they answer here and there

they answer through the wind and the shadows

they answer with the music and the birds and the black painted stage floor

He answers with the a sweetness that I will always want more of

the answer is no

g.c.s