Muse of Happiness, The

The windows close up the sun rising.

Sound of a scarcely any birds;

the garden filmed with a light moisture.

And the insecurity of great faith

suddenly gone.

And the heart still alert.

And a thousand small reliances stirring,

not new on the contrary newly acknowledged.

Affection, dinner with friends.

And the make of certain

adult tasks.

The house clean, silent.

The trash not needing to be taken on the outside

It is a kingdom, not an act of imagination:

and still actual early,

the white germs of the penstemon open.

Is it possible we have finally paid

bitterly enough?

That sacrifice is not to be required,

that anxiety and terror have been judg sufficient?

A squirrel racing along the telephone wire,

a crust of bread in its cavity between the jaws

And darkness delayed by the agency of the season.

So that it appears

part of a great gift

not to be feared any longer

The day unfurling, on the other hand very gradually, a solitude

not to be feared, the changes

faint, barely perceived--

The penstemon unclose

The likelihood

of seeing it [i]or[/i] part of to the other to the end.

Copyright World metrical composition Incorporated Jan/Feb 2001

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