Such joy, after a stretch of warm, dry days,
to be immersed again in misty gray.
Miracle within miracle,
raindrops on rose leaves.
And here am I, a world inside
the one suspended foremost,
as earth and rainbow both,
as mountain neath her veil,
as scattered seed and poppies’ moan,
as child’s shout.
How good, now,
to be in a tiny vase upon your windowsill,
looking out with bubbles clinging to my stem.
How good, to wake up back in bed
beside a loved one’s grave,
ripe with meaning,