four fingers hiding, clinging stuck
peanut butter in your pocket
comfortable paste staid in their own quiet dark
stubborn fingers moaning, why must it be, why?
and what could pull you out of this butternut thicket
primordial ooze evolved to
trap your limp fist jammed in the jar
but the impulse to finger past the walls of manufactured candy cups, salted sugar imagination
covered and fooled into the sneaky center
of this candy bar life
encapsulated in a shell smoothed by words, ruling words
held tight by thoughts, entangled by the jingle in your head when half asleep.
take your hand from your pocket to tinker with the jewels, the soft songs and soaring dreams
past the squares, empty of the wonder of a fleeting moment
lighting on the tear drop of a mood, paintbrush of a tree
laughing daffodils and wild animal call…
take your hand from your pocket
show the world your treasure
the peanut butter is not your enemy, show it some sunlight
oil your skin with it, shine your bronze beauty with it and use what was hidden deep
where sunlight diamonds catch the glint of presence…
join your world
dance with your only World, this only One
eager elements wait to celebrate
what you held from view
that quality of aliveness unique to you
what you were afraid to draw out
the roots even gravity can’t hold down
that little thing inside of you that is so dazzling delight
the kernel of you, that’s been canned for so long, sealed tight
stuck
like peanut butter
in your pocket
Tree of Gold, courtesy of Ray Lobato see more of Ray’s art at raylobato.com
