Eye of the Eye
Morning comes with light and shadows
when I slip out of bed. All I remember
of the dream last night is that it’s an ocean.
I close my eyes and envision restless waters
pounding the shore. What can this mean?
Inside my heartbeat a poem stirs
although my heart bears the weight of grief.
The first line says live. Live again.
Words as they appear shape the page.
The cluttered living room tells a story
of long-lived life. The television drones
about stories of politics and wars—
a housemate is fixed on the couch.
I gaze out the window and there is
something more, always something more.
Neighbors across the street in their yard
lose themselves in conversation, opening
scene, the day a three-act play.
The eternal sun peering over a grove
invites me to step outside the back door
and take in the world spread before me.
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