Growing tired I grope for
tattered bits of wisdom:
words tangled in the years.
Me eyes, accustomed to the dark,
revel in shadows.
Candle light seems brighter now.
I would linger here
waiting for some unexpected truth:
the meaning of life,
the meaning of meaning—
but everyday thoughts intrude:
the clothes that need folding,
the mail that needs sorting
and mostly tossing,
the Icelandic poppy, bought on sale,
that needs planting, the thank-you
I need to write.
The sun rises.
Tomorrow becomes today.
Maybe I’ll be finding the light
in the ordinary of this day:
the planting, the sorting,
the weeding, the digging,
the bits of thought
that come unannounced or
some sight delighting the eye:
Two ladybugs
attach on a blade of grass—
sprigs of memory bring
a wordless flowing-in of light.
