It’s another sunny day here in blue-sky America,
and everywhere you look there’s a dome of sky
and a patch of grass that’s perfect for everyone.
Morning’s a whitewash; all things move, swimming
across open spaces without any visible effort:
These are the birds, small, fragile but resilient,
without which morning could not exist.
These are the lupine and zinnia, swaying in the birdsong.
This is the cat, sitting in a window, watching.
I am the I, recording. I move about the space
like air, but less substantial than air, seeing
and touching what is seen. I cease being. I cease.
Sun floods in, warms the empty space it touches.
All matter, everywhere, catches some of its fire,
reflects back some of its heat.
I move about the space like sunlight,
I fly out the window, I lift the shade from
under the trees, I warm the lupine and zinnia.
I become the lupine. I become the zinnia.
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RDP Monday — Ephemeral
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