Only Here

I wake
Holding the blue piece
Of a dream. And lying still
On the cloudy pillow,
Before the day’s first word
Spreads meaning out over the world,
I let the morning rain
Be all I am.

And in the slender
Stone-colored light, the ordinary
Promises of my life are made again,
Attaching themselves silkenly
Like rain to the window
Or my car glazed like a white rose
In the driveway.

And the dream
Now cold, blows away
Like history, my wife
Stirring beside me, the feathery touch
Of our first child turning
In her widening belly. Downstairs,
The kitchen waits. There is nothing
To decide. Everything asleep
Is about to awake, the day
 Set like a mighty clock
In the silence.

Opening our eyes,
We lift the world; the universe
Tossed like rain from the tips
Of our lashes. Only here
Our ordinary eyes learn to find eternity–
There is nothing else. The luster
Is this plainness we walk in;
This poverty we rise to
At the end of dreaming–
The sacrament each day
Of our feet touching
The floor.

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