MAKE THIS OPTIONAL
I am a teacher of many means. My open
hands, outstreched, seem to hold the sun.
What little I give, really, comes back tenfold,
like someone's parable says. Maybe not.
This morning, long after there now should
be, ice forms on the window-sill near where
the idle cat has flopped. The cat, to no outward
mind, seems not to notice, yet I do. The lamplight,
once centered on the ceiling, has now somehow
moved on over the corner's edge. I do not know
how or what happened to make it so. Slow,
all things change - and the ice will soon be
water again, the ice will soon be water.
No comments:
Post a Comment