Before
In the still of day
When there is light but
Otherwise no other
Thing intrudes
Before I turn on the tube
(Yes, tube)
Or warm up the computer
Before I am reminded
What there is to do
I cease all preparations
To brake and break
(Both kinds)
With all
Rather to wonder
What might occur today,
Totally unexpected
Certainly not planned
A surprise
Delightful or disturbing
I won’t know
But I know what I’d
Choose for something
Or someone, new or
Anew, to come into
My world
Journaling at the Start of 5 February
Added coffee to the canister. Drank from a
Mouthwash bottle nearly empty with a full one
Beside. Same with toothpaste, when it’s time.
These small abundances matter much.
It’s a bunch of days. So the television tells me.
Something to do with weather, with a kind of
Food, and with the heart. Maybe something pre-
Valentine’s. I slept five or six hours, which is not
Enough. I slept under a throw, which is not enough
Though better than a blanket making me too hot.
Too hot in winter. (In a cold-winter clime.) That
Should be a blessing.
Psalm 25
a song of after-celebration
It’s not Sunday, no
Official day of rest
But unofficially we
At home are done with
Formal celebration
Unusually fine food,
Goods in boxes wrapped
Just-so, paper, sticky
Tape, silk ribbons—all
Now vestiges
All the tries at sweeping
Up glitter and confetti,
Finished for a time
(Glitter on a surface
Somewhere, somewhen,
A sparkling moment of
Quiet surprise to come)
Cups are filled with
Plain coffee now
The dogs and other
Pets are tired, next
To us and at peace
We enjoy a holiday
Without the holiday
Happy and less-sated,
Gazing at our decorations
Also now at rest
Sipping our hot morning
Drinks (or cool), looking
Out glass panels upon a
Sun-lit, dampened yard
Lord, please pardon, if this
Is for us the better
Holiday after-day
Psalm 24
a song of in-between
What do we do on an in-between
Day? How might we please
You, Lord, on this kind of day?
If we do small things—speak
More softly and with civility
To those we know and those
Whom we encounter;
If we see the grey wash of
Sky and appreciate that it
Is not a sky of harsher conflict;
If we enjoy the colors, textures
That we have (even awash) and
Simple meals within our means
To have three times—post-dawn,
At midday, and again in twilight;
If we choose to look at harmony
And listen to the view—if
We accomplish these diminutive
Tasks, maybe without thinking,
Might we still please you? We
Do hope so and so we pledge,
Even if all around us is
An indifferent age
clcouch123 
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