Today life opened inside me like an egg.
Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
I tell it stories now and then and feed it images like honey. I will not speculate today with poems that think they're money.
Jewels! Today each twig is important, each ring, each infection, each form is all that the gods must have meant.
Today is made of yesterday, each time I steal toward rites I do not know, waiting for the lost ingredient, as if salt or money or even lust would keep us calm and prove us whole at last.
There is no word for time. Today we will not think to number another summer or watch its white bird into the ground.
There is hope. There is hope everywhere. Today God give milk and I have the pail.
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