realizing that i've had it all along, hold a joyous celebration for its unexpected return; wait anxiously to see if night falls and, if it does, wonder curiously if dawn will break again; consider every moment in aching love to be a miracle wrapped as a precious gift in brown paper with silk ribbon, open each with unbelieving wonder and accumulate them with loving tenderness; push my body against bubbly molecules of air, swimming, floating, riding them down the sidewalk; consider whether god prefers my conversation over eggs and toast at the table or as midnight pee break soliloquies in a darkened bathroom; sit gently, open my body, move slowly, see beauty and trust life as much as i trust my red lamp
Saturday, August 7, 2010
i intend to
be devastated by my blessings; weep at the magnitude of my wealth; honor my footsteps across a wooden floor; caress each bathroom tile; kiss the windows, open, close them and kiss them anew like old friends; shock my body with each bite i take; savor every single dollar that's mine to spend; hold a vigil of silence and then a vigil of raucousness; long for my own skin and then,
realizing that i've had it all along, hold a joyous celebration for its unexpected return; wait anxiously to see if night falls and, if it does, wonder curiously if dawn will break again; consider every moment in aching love to be a miracle wrapped as a precious gift in brown paper with silk ribbon, open each with unbelieving wonder and accumulate them with loving tenderness; push my body against bubbly molecules of air, swimming, floating, riding them down the sidewalk; consider whether god prefers my conversation over eggs and toast at the table or as midnight pee break soliloquies in a darkened bathroom; sit gently, open my body, move slowly, see beauty and trust life as much as i trust my red lamp
realizing that i've had it all along, hold a joyous celebration for its unexpected return; wait anxiously to see if night falls and, if it does, wonder curiously if dawn will break again; consider every moment in aching love to be a miracle wrapped as a precious gift in brown paper with silk ribbon, open each with unbelieving wonder and accumulate them with loving tenderness; push my body against bubbly molecules of air, swimming, floating, riding them down the sidewalk; consider whether god prefers my conversation over eggs and toast at the table or as midnight pee break soliloquies in a darkened bathroom; sit gently, open my body, move slowly, see beauty and trust life as much as i trust my red lamp
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1 comment:
Love is aching, one side to a powerful inheritance. Handy-me-down emotions. One aspect not effected by Oil spills, health insurance coverage nor religion. Brown Paper bags with no price-checks or bar codes. When God goes to sleep, God doesn't know how God's eggs would be cooked in the morning, but someone already prepared them how God likes them. Determinism anyone?
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