Becoming
There are days
when I don't look
for much, just an old chair
on the back porch,
a few thoughts
to pick over, perhaps
a memory to recall and,
to entertain the eye,
splotches of sunlight
to dance around
a cup of coffee
cooling on a table.
Life distilled
to such a simple array
of mental bric-a-brac
set in a familiar scene.
Cezanne knew it
in a bowl of fruit.
And yet how clear
the moment, how
this bright beam
of consciousness illuminates
a patch of existence
making it a lens
into a world trembling
on the brink of becoming.
I keep returning
for more.
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