Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow’s dust flares into breath.
~Mark Strand “The Coming of Light”
At times I feel my age more than others:
my joints and muscles need loosening,
my thoughts take time to clarify and sharpen,
my longings less urgent.
Yet those moments are balanced
by the steady persistence
of light and warmth and love.
I breathe deeply of this fragrant life;
I’m not dust yet.
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