Wonder-Filled and Clear

for Heidi, on her 19th birthday

I once believed it would be best
if keen perception were a guest
so rare that commonplaces we
prefer, were all that you would see
                    and thus with joy be blessed.

I once believed a narrow view
with purpose strong could shelter you
from thunderstorms and chilling rain
and heaven's comforting sight retain,
                   remarking shadows few.

But fate or luck or providence
on your perception took a chance
with eyesight wonder-filled and clear
a gentle seer, a listening ear
                  a restless mind at dance.

And in our light-scaped dappled weave
of fluttering words a rage perceive,
a rage and sorrow for the night
though laughter keeps the music bright
                 and all seem to believe.

And likely do. You see that, too,
that reaching toward the truly true,
that weakness wishing to be strong,
that hope to be more right than wrong,
                 or divine a holy cue.

Not all you see is gloaming doom--
sometimes a light in darkened room
where few perceive, a joyful trace--
compassion in your grandpa's face
                 a gleam within the gloom.

And refugees, outsiders, lost
you tenderly reveal the most
and paint for those who would be blind
a blazing image, bold and kind,
                 complacence though it cost.

Had what I hoped for you been so--
your existential pains forgo--
the congregation would be home
for you, beyond never to roam
                  never in winds to blow.

But wonder-filled and clear, your eyes
like heralds in those ancient skies
will bring good news to weak and poor,
bring chaos to the mighty's door,
                  exposing social lies.

Your eyes may find paths I have not,
see ways through murk I've long forgot
or never knew but sought in vain
my blurred eyes blinkering my brain,
                   my life's quite foolish plot.

So those old wishes I retract.
I'm glad the gods did not enact
my prayer, bereft of wisdom's light,
instead piercing the world's dark night
                   with eyes that act.

You'll find your hope, your peace, your will--
Forsaking false, employing still
two hands, two feet, a thoughtful mind
bent toward the good of Every-Kind
                   with every skill.

Your eyes so wonder-filled and clear
are beautiful to us, and dear.
And what you'll do and say and be
for us but partly mystery.
                 We love you, ever hear.