Sprung Coil Quartet #1, 2007
by Michael Knutson
As I lay in my hospital bed,
those blurred days before
my chest was cracked open,
parts were inspected, moved
and replaced- I had pause to ponder
the meaning of my own life.
I joked that what my Zen priest friend said
about his own brush with life's ending
"it wasn't dying that scared me, it was living"-
as if I could own the same sentiment.
And to an extent I could, though what
had me concerned was legacy,
that intangible I would be leaving behind.
Though I cannot claim to do more
with a canvas than finger paint,
I have been given a gift golden-
to be able to spin multicolored words
upon the page, each time with a new hope-
that maybe a word or phrase
transcribed from the very Beloved,
will ease into your heart creating
an opening or pathway so that
you may at last know your own
I only ask that you, the recipient
of these words of breath, of ecstatic wonder,
of love and life itself, hold the clear strong vision
with me- that I may have the privilege
of reaching far and wide, where the day is at hand
even now, when I will be reading
across the continents to large audiences
hungry for solace, for peace, for a taste
of the truth of their own being.
And so it is.