Sweet Dreams and Good Morning
I find my way back to poetry,
I know that healing has begun.
Is well underway, in fact.
Through the night we held the hand of darkness with tenderness
Because there exists in words the danger
Of the ‘too many’
And the ‘too few’.
Understanding is all that matters.
This is why there is a special language for the heart.
It is poetry and only poetry the heart can trust.
Poetry is not the words but that which inspires the heart to stillness
or to sing like the first birds, who notice and celebrate at just the right
moment that we are between and now.
So, when the dawn arrived in her delicate miracle, the garbage trucks
synchronized between you and me,
declared in their blunt manner,
“I’M HERE TO COLLECT THE GARBAGE. TOO LATE TO CHANGE YOUR
Matter of factly, they hauled away the ‘too many’ and the ‘too few’
to The Dump; a no-frills graveyard for things past.
Night whispers gratitude for your patience as she drifts away, satisfied.
And the day, like a loving farm wife preparing homemade biscuits and jam,
serves poetry for breakfast.