Cisterns That Can Hold No Water

He looked out the window
And saw steam rising from the nuclear power plant.
He had tried so many times to make it make sense,
To find a path towards the extra measure,
The extra molecule of life and love.
But it wasn't so simple as that time next to the willow trees
Where he lost his life's love and returned
A less hopeful man, but still curious.
So as the steam rose into the air from the tall chimneys,
To where it would return eventually,
He considered his lesser tries.
The time he met the Lorax and his trees,
With the lesson to be learned and the price to be paid.
The time he sat in a lecture hall and listened
As a secular man told him that he was right.
The time he sat in a gymnasium and was cut to the heart
As a religious man told him that he was wrong.
And the time above all when his mother had passed away,
Before he made it to the hospital from the airport.
And he tried to imagine
What all of these times had in common.
Setting down his glass of grape juice
He put his hand on the window to feel the cool,
To imagine what real faith felt like,
Before pain hardened the world to times like these.
He tried to imagine a beautiful flower meadow
With a poetry house in the center,
The center of which had a clear column of light shining daily.
He imagined a place where love wasn't an abstract idea,
Because poetry never worked out his personal catharsis,
Nor had much to say about this particular moment.
Not really.
He picked up his glass of grape juice and took a sip,
Tasting the bitter sweetness,
Thinking about how a thousand saints had died for times like these.
And looking out the window
He saw steam rising from the nuclear power plant.