Beginner's Lessons

Beginner's Lessons by Malcolm AlexanderIf you wish to be wealthy, duck beneath the topcoat of a well-dressed river until you come up with a mossy boot filled with shiners. Spend them wisely. To tread lightly on the earth, first breathe in and out slowly to sense how oxygen walks barefoot, then observe butterflies, so weightless even our poetry burdens them. Avoid mistaking sadness for blueberries,but if this happens remember only one of the two tastes like a somersault. Make nothing more of the moon than what it is, a great big pebblehunting for a shoe, not to be confused with the heart, likewise a vagabond. Inside of every stray cat lurks a person who discarded love. Remember this when you bend over to wind them up. If you feel compelled to fly a flag, note how it struggles in vain to be a rainbow and how envy will make it twist and flap like a tongue. Consider instead a kite. If you desire to reach heaven, have your body buried in an aspen grove. In time, all of you will wick up into a loud version of it. If the din of the human world overwhelms you,trace the voicebox of an orchid with your finger. When you get to the aria, listen. But beware, for beauty can be a lacewing or a meteor, and lands wherever it pleases. When you finish reading a poem, bend it around so you can see yourself in it. Then laugh out loud. Everything else now should come easy.