Something there is that doesn’t love a meeting.
I could say “elves” — but I think “selves” may be
Closer to the mark. We might walk along the river.
We could sit around my oaken kitchen table.
We could gasp in cold and driving rain and laugh
Beneath an overhang as thunder rounded under.
We might take a darkish corner of a happy pub
Sketch out worlds to conquer, castles to build;
Order another pitcher of Guinness or Sam Adams.
But the formal corporate tables – row on row –
Are cookie-cuttered, soul-guttered, flat.
Inside the gray walls, the gray points are made.
One by one the problems raised, dissected,
And out upon the table laid. That’s that.
If the world outside is sun and rainbow rain,
It’s all just too Crayola for the corporate brain.
Chart of Acronym, Chart of Org, Chart of Plan.
Chart of Acronym, Chart of Org, Chart of Plan.
And all the while, a child grows; a world flows.
Vines laugh their magic miracle of transmutation:
Water into wine. Sun shafts energy into raindrops:
Outside, a prism of possibilities seen and unseen
Is painted for our pleasure. Inside, our insight fades.
But someday soon, I may open up the windows
And let the rainbows in. Would that really be a sin?
Or, might the colors flash those numbers into life?
Might the living flesh of nature help us see?
Dissolve the strife? Prevent the strike? May be.
You like to think you know yourself all too well.
But maybe — just perhaps, you cannot tell.
Spring may put a notion in your head too:
A meeting out of doors where people talked
Of how things really are and then we’d dream a bit
Of how things then might really come to pass. You, yourself,
Might just open up that flat gray glass and
Let the Rainbows in! Let the Rainbows in!
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To see the earth is vast expanse
petersironwood 
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