fields of the rich
Hide the world like a squirrel. Don’t hide the squirrel.
Find it again when no one might notice, not even you.
And not even the unhidden squirrel now next to you.
So much is hidden, inevitably becoming only the world.
It is a tall silo, filled to the top, so to see all the green.
If we could hasten to the hill country and sit up there,
as the golden knolls crease, and the treasures unfold,
up high it is so easy to see all that we possess. And yet,
we might easily overlook what is in front of us instead.
Funny, funny how things can become numb. Or not.
One would think the truly rich shall truly know
what is funny. At this, the squirrel only darts away.
Joe Bisicchia writes of our shared dynamic. An Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for Mystical Poetry, his works have appeared in numerous publications. His website is www.JoeBisicchia.com.