I’ll be brief, for we are both busy
and the calendar Gods have laid waste to
that idyllic peace which, if we’re honest,
is as foreign to our forebears as to us.
Yet there are moments in our backbreaking
lives on this backbreaking Earth that, were
we to behold them to their utmost, would
call into question this whole endeavor:
Not just the raking of leaves, not just work
or self-improvement, but poetry, even love.
Rushing through the dark, a wolf snarls my
name and I don’t flinch—I just stand in awe.
