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by Charlene Langfur

Today I let the poem take to what is here around me,
to the little birds in the grass looking for twigs and seeds.
The light washing over everything I know about where I am,
the pink poppies and the crazy heat of the solar wind
where I walk my small dog in early morning and late at night
in a little world in a giant universe of stars and suns
of atoms and quarks expanding in light years and nanoseconds.
I count it out so as not to forget what’s in front of me,
cooking dinner with garlic, the elixirs I imagine, violets
for the salad, the richness of a colorful life, full of pencils
and old books, good reads, books easily read again and again,
the color purple, a cache of greens, the deep blue in my shirt
and the light blue in the sky, the length of light we see anything in,
how we begin each day, in each year on earth here in the galaxy
of the sun