SOMETHING TO MARVEL AT
He marvels at the orderliness of things.
These days the birds start singing
at precisely four-forty-seven,
and the newspaper man makes his stop
at the house next door at six-o-six.
Stranger still, his breath enters and leaves
with correctness, his quiet heart
carries on its duties in a trustworthy way,
and the stars stream
the way they’re supposed to stream.
It’s astonishing to consider this
as he eats his perfect piece of toast
and dawn delivers another ideal day
at his doorstep.
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