Friday, October 12, 2018

(Bernice D., 61, Blessings CT)

At 59,
on a sleepy, sultry day
she saw, for the first time,
that each moment was made new,
and that she, too, was always new --
a fresh, stirred up assembly of cells
every single second.
She saw that, in a sense,
she was always waking up,
and she realized
that she couldn’t help it,
that rousing and rising
was just what the universe always does,
constantly and endlessly
spurring itself on.
She realized that even
the airless languor of the day
was continually awakening
into new and unspoiled airless languor,
and that even her fears and sorrows
were unceasingly bestirring themselves
into unprecedented designs
so she could better see and understand them
 in every respect
in this always newly-alert world.

Monday, April 23, 2018

(3/23/18, revised 4/23/18)

Around a bend came joy like a boat,
and I jumped aboard. The world watched,
and the sun sat in a tree and laughed.
The minutes made music, the hours gave
us golden gifts. Sadness went down to
the sea and died, and worry wandered off
to find another friend. I waved to old
depression, slumped on the shore. Just
a morning – just me and a breeze I
know, and joy with her biggest sails.

Thursday, July 25, 2013


The streets are gray like the grayness 
of the good hearts of heartbroken people. 
This music makes him hold out his 
hands to them. They hear the music of 
sadness, these mighty hearts made sad 
by a sun that never seems to rise. He 
sits inside himself with the friendship 
of the music. He wishes he had some 
friendless people beside him, bringing 
the golden light they’ve forgotten they have. 

Sunday, January 20, 2013

AT 4:51 PM

The sun was just starting to set
when he suddenly understood.
It was so clear.
He understood these simple truths –
that every sign along the roads
was placed there by a person
who had worked with focus
to finish the task –
that every part in every passing car
was installed by a person
with a hard-working heart
and hands that sometimes held other hands –
that every shirt on every driver’s back
was made by workers in a factory
who often found satisfaction
in producing a simple but splendid shirt –
that every clock in every house
holds millions of special moments –
that the setting sun is glorious
whether anyone notices it or not.   

Saturday, January 5, 2013


He felt it in his fingers.
It followed him at home and school,
and slept all around his house
when he slept. There was newness
in the fields of words he found
when he opened a book in the morning,  
and in the face of every student
in his classes. All his thoughts
were new, even if he didn’t know it,
and there was nothing but new light
in every unfolding moment,
although he sometimes didn’t see it,
didn’t see the flash of lightning
in the center of every occurrence.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012


(for Charlie Wright)

After five years, he came back to us
as quiet as the clear sky above our school.
To us, it was as if all the leaves on all the lawns
had suddenly been swept away by a wondrous force,
or the imprisoning clouds had been pushed aside
so the stars could use their grace and goodness
above us. It was as if all things
were made new. His conversations sounded
like songs, and his handshakes were silent
expressions of thanks that he was with us again.
This school, to him, was like a sacred city once again,
and his simplest thoughts seemed like visions
of what could still be done.
We were lucky he let us be with him again.
Standing beside him was somehow like being special,
as special as this small,
sparkling school he loves so much.