This Beautiful But Lonesome Assignment

Another morning
examining snow
while the dog
Another morning
being briefly
born again,
in silence
and gratitude,
in what I am dimly
perceiving can-
but needn’t –
be called Love.
The moon only seems
to rise and fall,
while certain forms
of sharing do feel
as natural and vivid
as forget-me-nots,
which of course
I never do.
Loveliness abounds,
or the idea
of it abounds,
and one asks:
does it matter,
the difference?
At this late
juncture does
it matter?
Back inside
I reheat
old coffee,
take it to
the window
and write.
Like you
I put it
the only way
I know, which
will have to do.
It’s okay.
In a moment
the first chickadee
will arrive,
ending this beautiful
but lonesome

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