Wednesday, January 23, 2008


He doesn’t know

where his thoughts come from,

or why a snowstorm

waits this morning

just outside his door,

or which dancing moment

will make him happiest today.

He doesn’t dare try to understand

the serenity he feels

flowing beneath all things,

or the beauty that bathes

even his coffee cup,

even the spoon that lifts

the cereal to his mouth.

The book of truths

is closed to him,

but he loves the way it looks

lying before him.

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