Another cold grey sunday morning.
The street is wet because of the melting snow
and the rain last night and this early morning.
Strange to think that there is a certain
kind of eloquent thinness in this landscape that
I find calming and beguiling and nourishing.
Later I will go out and walk and merge
with the thinness and I know that something
in me will blossom, lift me up and make me see
with illumined eyes the world in a lovely thin way
while I drink a dark roast coffee and read a book of poetry
about the sublime.
In the meantime I see a brown squirrel.