i awake, ready to enter again into

this poem called life.

to filter the moments, 

the quivering of water’s meniscus in a plastic bottle,

how each person holds his pen differently,

leaving calluses to brand his singularity.

faded birthday cards on refrigerators, 

signed by people who are no longer here,

and crow’s feet.

steam rising from a don’t-touch-that-it’s-hot chocolate cake,

five eager noses huddled round.

forehead kisses.

all these, stanzas in an ode to life.

i could ask myself if i am pressing the world

into a mold i have manufactured

to make it kinder

but i prefer to keep watching 

without too serious a self-inquiry. 

i am happier this way.

it is less heart-breaking to welcome the world 

as a divine sonnet.