This morning, a cloud outside the window
floated golden against the high blue sky –
happiness arrives like this some days. This
hunger for meeting – how to explain?
The circling hawk above the barren trees, the
mountain in its white stillness beyond the valley,
the cloud can only point, look here.
Do you understand?
Let us not draw the shades today.
Let us not go the way of other days.
Let us open the window, lean out.
See how the young pine brushes the oak
as if they were making love? The air
is a sharp sword, the snow an open canvas.
Last night I heard a coyote call
clear and insistent through the woods.
Today I know something.