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.
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.