Each one is a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
or set upon your forehead
moments before you open your eyes…
Through the calm eye of the window
everything is in its place
but so precariously
this day might be resting somehow
on the one before it,
all the days of the past stacked high
like the impossible tower of dishes
entertainers used to build on stage.
No wonder you find yourself
perched on the top of a tall ladder
hoping to add one more.
Just another Wednesday
then holding your breath,
place this cup on yesterday’s saucer
without the slightest clink.
~Billy Collins, “Day” from The Art of Drowning
Some days feel like that:
teetering at the top of finite minutes and hours,
trying to not topple over life so carefully balanced,
even as the wind blows and the foundation slants
and the ladder of time feels rickety.
It is a balancing act –
this waking up to try on a new day
while juggling everything still in the air
from the days before.
To stay on solid ground
I anchor deep
into the calm eye of unchanging love,
reminded, once again,
I’m held up from above
when everything beneath me feels precarious.