with a failure?"
there are inner and outer
voices, and between them you sit,
your soul like a head at a tennis match,
and some of the voices sound like umpires,
your parents', your wife's, those temporarily
wearing sports coats 'cause you need to be told something
and the honest voices, the Nastases cursing, gesturing wildly,
hitting balls into the crowd, giving the middle finger,
undomesticate,
and the crowd spitting back, in sports coats,
"this is why he's a failure, despite all that talent"
or the voice that speaks softly, on its knees,
reciting the 23rd psalm, holding a rosary,
looking up at the night sky
or the voice that rises above the suffering, the failure,
the voice that wakes up at 4:00 a.m.
like the smoke rising from a fire,
and turns it all into something
beautiful
which keeps rising,
rising,
rising,
becoming clear again, and easy,
finally at home,
stars.
