Morning

“wonderful to depart!

wonderful to be here!”

--from Whitman’s “Song at Sunset”

Great flesh and stone and chilled air

turning morning around me!

All the stuff of a new day is good, and

all that is fashioned of jostling, binding,

elusive atoms is better than we thought

in the night when we dreamed the horrible

nightmares: our souls scratched

frantically at the inside walls of our

bodies, desperate for escape from a

broken world they told us was cursed.

But, ah, this moment now—

greatest teacher ever—

speaks of late winter limbs (barren, yes),

silver limestone hills (eroding, yes),

vultures perched high with wings

outstretched drying heavy dew

(waiting for the necessary dew, yes),

and my own unsteady, weakened hand that

holds the paper (even us, yes).

What shall I do but wake to this

morning now, listen, see what I’m

allowed (and more!), and gather all

the scattered shards of strength and beauty

and shout hallelujahs to the wind

that gathers up now and the white sun

that melts the air around me and

the gently curved planet that’s pulling

us back and back and back until the

day we full return?

Great flesh and stone made of each other

and both one good thing.